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LIBRARY of the
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO

on deposit
from
Massey College

cJUl'K.

POPULAR NOVELS.

By May Agnes rieming.

I.— GUY EARLSCOURT'S WIFE.
II.— A WONDERFUL WOMAN.
III.— A TERRIBLE SECRET. {In Press.)

"Mrs. Fleming's stories are growing; more and more popu-
lar every day. Ttieir delineations of character,
life-like conversations, flashes of wit, con-
stantly varying scenes, and deeply in-
teresting plots, combine to place
their author in the very first
rank of Modern
Novelists."

All published uniform with this volume. Price
each, and sent free by mail, on receipt of price, by

G. W. CARIiETON & CO.,
New York.

Wonderful Woman.

MAY AGNES FLEMING,

AUTHOR OF

"Guy Earlscourt's Wife," "A Terrible Secret," Etc., Etc., Etc.,

NEW YORK:
G. fF. Carleton ^ Co., Publishers.

LONDON: S. LOW SON & CO.
M.DCCC.LXX1II.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by

G. W. CARLETON & CO.,
Ill the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

Stereotyped at the
women's printing nousB,
56, 58 and 60 Park Street,
New York.

^0 Jrunb,

^ARA JiAMILTON E M O N ,

In Memory of the Pleasamt Winter Afternoons Spent Together
WHILST IT WAS BEING WRITTEN,
this book is affectionately
PEDICATED.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAGB

I. — Katherine ^ 9

II. — Mrs. Vavasor. ... 22

III. — Among the Roses 36

IV. — Love under the Lamps 43

V. — Before Breakfast 47

VI. — Asking in Marriage 56

VII. — The Second Warning 65

VIIT.— A Letter from New Orleans 81

IX.— The Third Warning 91

X. — Before the Wedding 104

XI.— The Wedding Night 123

XII.— The Telling of the Secret 136

XIII. — Mrs. Vavasor's Story 144

XIV. — Day of Wrath ! Day of Grief! 154

XV.—'' Dead or Alive " 166

XVI.— Before Midnight 179

XVIL— "Resurgam" 192

PART II.

I. — La Reine Blanche 207

11. — Miss Herncastle , 221

III. — Sir Arthur Tregenna 235

IV. — At Scars wood 240

• V. — " Once more the Gate behind me falls" 253

VI. — Something very strange 262

VII. — '* There is many a Slip," etc 272

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER PAG^

VIII.— Redmond O'Donnell 282

IX. — Six Years before 292

X. — An Irisli Idyl 300

XI. — Its English Reading 314

XII.—" The Battle of Fontenoy " 326

XIII. — The Mystery of Bracken Hollow 337

XIV. — Under the King's Oak 353

XV.— " As in a Glass, darkly " , . . 362

XVI. — The Story of the Ivory Miniature 377

XVII.— The Scar on the Temple 391

XVIII.— Rose O'Donnell's Secret 403

XIX.— Knight and Page 416

XX.— A Dark Night's Work 432

XXI.— The Length of his Tether 437

XXII. — After the Masquerade 445

XXIII. — «* Six Years too Late" 457

XXIV. — A Chapter of Wonders. 474

XXV.— The Last Link 487

XXVI.— Hunted Down 497

XXVIL— That Night 509

XXVIII.—" Not I, but Fate, hath dealt this Blow" 524

XXIX.— How it ended 533

A WONDERFUL WOMAN.

CHAPTER 1.

KATHERINE.

HE large, loud-voiced clock over the stables struck
nine, and announced to all whom it might concern
that the breakfast-hour of Sir John Dangerfield, Bar-
onet, of ScarsAVOod Park, Sussex, had arrived.
Scarswood Park ! A glorious old place, lying deep down in
the green heart of a Sussex v/oodland ! A glorious old place,
where the rare red deer disported amid the emerald glades'j and
dusky, leafy aisles of tlie oak and beech ! A vast and stately
park, sloping down to the tawny sea-shore, and a vast and
stately mansion, its echoing turrets rising high above the tower-
ing oak and copper beeches, and its eastern windows sparkling
in the red sunhght of this bright September morning like
sparks of fire !

Within and without the great house was very still ; a break-
fast-table, sparkling with crystal, rich with rough old silver, gay
with tall glasses of September roses, and snowy with napery,
stood ready and waiting in a spacious room.

Through the open windows the sweet, hay-scented morning
wind blew, and far off you caught in the summer stillness the
soft wash of the waves on the yellow sands, more than a mile
away.

At tlie last chime of the loud-voiced clock the door opened,
and Sir John Dangerfield came into the room. A silver-toned
French time-piece on the marble mantel began a tinkling waltz,
preparatory to repeating the hour ; the birds, in their gilded
cages, sang bUthely their welcome ; but the baronet glanced
impatiently around in search of something or somebody else.

"Not down yet," he said. "That's not like Katherine !
1*

KATHERINE.

She is not used to dissipation, and I suppose last night's concert
has made her lazy this morning. Thomas," — to a footman,
appearing like a tall plush specter in the doorway — "tell Miss
Katherine's maid that I am waiting breakfast. Has the Ti7nes
arrived ? "

" Yes, Sir John."

Thomas presented the folded Thunderer to his master, and
vanished.

Sir John Dangerfield flung himself into an easy-chair, that
groaned in every joint with his three hundred pounds of man-
hood, and opened the damp London paper, perfuming the room
with the smell of printers' ink. He was a tall, portly gentle-
man, this Sussex baronet, with a handsome, florid face, and an
upright, mihtary bearing. For three months only had he reigned
master of Scarswood ; three lives had stood between him and the
baronetcy, and, a colonel in the Honorable East India Com-
pany's Service, he had, four months before this sunny September
morning, about as much idea of ever lording it in Scarswood
Hall as he had of ever sitting on the throne of England. Sud-
denly, and as if a fatality v/ere at work, these three lives had
been removed, and Colonel Dangerfield, of her Majesty's H.
E. r. C. S., became Sir John Dangerfield, of Scarswood Park,
and, with his daughter and heiress, came back to England for
the first time in fifteen years. He was a widower, and Miss
Dangerfield, his daughter, his heiress, his idol, had been born
in England, and was two years old when her father had first
gone out to India, and grown up to be nearly seventeen before
she ever set foot upon English soil again.

He unfolded his paper, but he did not read. The loud sing-
ing of the birds, the dazzling brightness of the summer morning,
disturbed him, perhaps. It dropped on liis knee, and his eyes
turned on the emerald lawn, on the tangled depths of fern and
bracken, on the dark expanse of waving woodland — terrace,
lawn, and coppice, all bathed in the glorious golden light.

" A fair prospect," he said — " a princely inheritance ! And
to think that four months ago I was grilling alive in Calcutta,
with no earthly hope but that of retiring one day from the
Company's service v/ith chronic liver complaint, and a colonel's
half-pay. For myself it would not matter : but for Katherine ! "
His face changed suddenly. If I only could be certain she
were dead ! If I only could be certain my secret was buried
with her ! It never mattered before — we were out of her reach ;
but since my accession to Scarswood, since my return to Eng-

KATHERINE.

land, that wretch's memory has haunted me Uke an evil spirit.
Only last night I dreamed of her — dreamed I saw her evil
black eyes gleaming upon me in this room. Paugh ! "

A shudder of disgust — a look of abhorrence ; then he lifted
the paper again — and again he dropped it.

A door far above closed Avith a bang ; a fresh young voice
caroling like a' bird ; the quick patter, patter, patter, of little
female feet downstairs — the last three cleared with a jump ;
and then the door of the breakfast-room was flung wide, and
the heiress of Scarswood Park flashed into the room.

Flashed — I use the word advisedly — flashed in like a burst
of sunshine — like a hillside breeze — and stood before her father
in fluttering white muslin, pink ribbons waving, brown hair fly-
ing, gray eyes dancing, and her fresh, sv/eet voice ringing through
the room.

Good morning, papa ! " Miss Dangerfield cried, panting,
and out of breath. " Is breakfast ready ? I'm perfectly fam-
ished, and would have starved to death in bed if Ninon had not
come and routed me out. And how \^ your appetite, papa? —
and I hope I have not kept you waiting too long — and, oh !
wasn't the concert perfectly de — licious last night !"

And then two white arms went impetuously around the neck
of the Indian officer, and two fresh rosy lips gave him a kiss
that exploded like a torpedo.

Sir John disengaged himself laughingly from this impulsive em-
brace.

Gently, gently, Kathie ! don't quite garrote me with those
long arms of yours. Stand off and let me see how you look
after last night's dissipa^tion. A perfect wreck, I'll be bound."

"Dissipation ! A perfect wreck ! Oh, papa, it was heavenly
— ^just that ! I shall never forget that tenor singer — who sang
Fortunio's song, you know, papa, with his splendid eyes, and
the face of a Greek god. And his name — Gaston Dantree —
beautiful as himself. Don't talk to me of dissipation and a
wreck ; I mean to go again to-night, and to-morrow night, and
all the to-morrow nights while those concerts are given by the
Talbots."

She stood before him, gesticulating rapidly, with the golden
morning light pouring full on her face.

And Miss Katherine Dangerfield, heiress and heroine, was
beautiful, you say, as an heiress and heroine should be ? I am
sorry to say No. The young ladies of the neighborhood, other-
wise English misses with pink and white complexions, and per-

KA THERINE.

feet manners; would have told you Katherine Dangerfield was
lanky and overgrown, had sunburnt hands and complexion,
too small a nose, and too large a mouth and chin. Would
have told you her forehead was low, her complexion sallow,
and her manners perfectly horrible. She was boisterous, she
was a hoyden, she said whatever came uppermost in her mind,
was utterly spoiled by a doting father, and had the temper of a
very termagant. They would probably have forgotten to men-
tion— those young ladies — that the sallow complexion was lit
by a pair of loveliest dark-gray eyes, that the tall, supple figure
of the girl of seventeen gave rare promise of statelv and majes-
tic womanhood, that the ever-ready smile, which parted the rosy
lips, displayed a set of teeth flashing like jewels. '

They would have forgotten to mention the wonderful fall of
bright brown hair, dark in the shadow, red gold in the light, and
the sweet freshness of a voice so silver-toned that all who heard
it paused to hsten. Not handsome — you would never have
called her that — but bright, bright and blithe as the summer
sunshine itself

''Well, papa, and how do I look? Not very much uglier
than usual, I hope. Oh, papa," the girl cried, suddenly, clasp-
ing her hands, "why, why, why wasn't I born handsome ? I
adore beauty — pictures, music, sunshine, flowers, and — hand-
some men ! I hate women — I hate girls — vain, malipious mag-
pies— spiteful and spiritless. Why don't I look like you, papa,
— you handsome, splendid old soldier ! Wliy was I ^orn with
a yellow skin, an angular figure, and more arms and hands
than I ever know what to do with ? Whom do I take after to
be so ugly, papa? Not after you, that's clear. Then it must
be after mamma?"

Miss Dangerfield had danced over to the great mirror on the
mantel, and stood gazing discontentedly at her own image in
the glass.

Sir John, in his sunny window-seat, had been listening with
an indulgent smile, folding his crackling paper. The crackling
suddenly ceased at his daughter's last words, the smile died
wholly away.

" Say, papa," Katherine cried, impatiently, " do I look like
mamma ? I never saw her, you know, nor her picture, nor any-
thing. If I do, you couldn't have been over and above partic-
ular during the period of love's young dream. Do I inherit my
tawny complexion, and square chin, and snub nose, and low
forehead from the late Mrs. Colonel Dangerfield ? "

KATHERINE.

Her father laid down his paper, and arose.

" Come to breakfast, Katherine," he said, more coldly than
he had ever spoken to her before in his life, and be kind
enough to drop the subject. Your flippant manner of speaking
of — of your mother, is positively shocking. I am afraid it is
true what they say of you here — Indian nurses — the lack of a
mother's care — and my indulgence, have spoiled you."

" Very well, papa ; then the fault's yours and you shouldn't
blame me. The what's-his-name cannot change his spots, and
I can't change my irreverent nature any more than I can my
looks. But really and truly, papa, do I look like mamma ? "

" No — yes — I don't know."
No — yes — I don't know. Intelligible, perhaps, but not at
all satisfactory. When /am left a widow, I hope I shall remem-
ber how the dear departed partner of my existence looked,
even after thirteen years. Have you no portrait of mamma,
then ? "

" No ! In Heaven's name, Katherine, eat your breakfast,
and let me eat mine ! "

" I am eating my breakfast," responded his daughter, testily.

I suppose a person can talk and eat at the same time.
Haven't you rather got a pain in your temper this morning,
papa ? And I must say I think it a little too hard that I can't
be told v/ho I take my ugliness from. I'm much obliged to
them for the inheritance, whoever they were."

Sir John again laid down his paper with a resigned sigh. He
knew of old how useless it was to try and stem the torrent of
his daughter's eloquence.

" What nonsense you talk, my dear," he said. " You're not
ugly — you don't want your father to pay you compliments, do
you, Katherine ? I thought your cousin Peter paid you enough,
last night to satisfy even your vanity for a month."

Katherine shook her head impatiently until all its red-brown
tresses flashed again.

" Peter Dangerfield — wretched little bore ! Yes, lie paid me
compliments, with his hideous little weasen face close to my
ear until I told him for goodness sa,ke to hold his tongue, and
not drive me frantic with his idiotic remarks ! Pie let me alone
after that, and sulked ! I tell you what it is, papa — if some-
thing is not done to prevent him, tha.t little grinning imbecile
will be asking me to marry him one of these days — mark my
woi ds ! "

" Very well — suppose he does ?" The baronet leaned back

/CATHERINE.

in his chair and raised his paper, nervously before his face.
" Suppose he does, Kathie — what then ?"

"What then!" The young lady could but just repeat the
words in her amaze and indignation. " What then ! Sir John
Dangerheld — do you mean to insult me, 'sir ? Put down that
paper this instant, and look the person you're talking to full in
the face, and repeat ^ what tJien^ if you dare!"

" Well, Kathie," the baronet said, still hdgeting with his paper
screen and not looking his excited litde commanding ofhcer in
the face, " Peter's not handsome, I know, nor dashing, but he's
a clever little fellow, and my nephew, and in love with you,
-and will make you a much better husband, my dear, than a
much better-looking man. Handsome men are always vain as
peacocks, and so deeply in love with themselves that they
never have room in their conceited hearts and empty heads to
love any one else. Don't be romantic, my dear — you'll not
find heroes anywhere nov/ except in Mudie's novels. Peter's a
clever little fellow, as I said, and over head and ears in love
with )^ou."

"A clever little fellow! A clever little fellow," repeated
Miss Dangerfield, with intense concentrated scorn. "Papa,"
with dignity, " a few minutes ago you told me to change the
subject. / make the same remark now. I wouldn't marry
your clever little fellow not to save my own head from the gal-
lows or his soul from perdition. Sir John, I consider myself
doubly insulted this morning ! I don't wonder you sit there
excruciating my nerves with that horrid rattling paper and
ashamed to look me in the face. I think you have reason to
be ashamed ! TeUing your only child and heiress she couldn't
do better than throw herself away on a pitiful little country
lawyer, only five feet high, and with the countenance of a rat.
If it were that adorable Gaston Dan tree now. Oh, here's the
post. Papa ! papa ! give me the key."

Miss Dangerfield forgetting in a second the late outrage
offered her by her cruel parent seized the key, unlocked the
bag, and plunged in after its contents.

" One — two — three — four ! two for me from India — one for
you from ditto, in Major Trevanion's big slap-dash fist, and this
— Why, papa, what lady correspondent can you have in Paris ?
What an elegant Italian ha^nd ! what thick yellow perfumed
paper, and what a sentimental seal and motto ! Blue wax and
pensez a moi! Now, papa, who can this be from ? "

She threw the letter across the table. With her first words ^

KA THERINE.

the face of the Indian officer had changed — a hunted look of
absolute terror had come into his face.

His hands tightened over the paper, his eyes fixed themselves
upon the dainty missive his daughter held before them, his florid,
healthful color faded — a dull grayish whiteness crept over his
face from brow to chin.

" Papa ! " Katherine cried, you're sick, you're going to
have a fit ! Don't tell me ! can't I see it ? Drink this — drink
it this moment and come round ! "

She held a glass of water to his lips. He obeyed mechani-
cally, and the color that had faded and fled, slowly crept back
to his bearded, sun-browned face. "There !" said Miss Dan-
gerfield, in a satisfied tone, "you have come round ! And now
tell me, was it a fit, or was it the letter ? Tell me the truth,
sir ; don't prevaricate ! "

" It was one of my old attacks, Kathie, nothing more. You
ought to be used to them by this time. Nothing more, I give
you my word. Go back to your breakfast, child," he said tes-
tily, "and don't stand staring there in that uncomfortable way !"

" My opinion is, papa," responded Miss Dangerfield, with
gravity, " that you're in a bad way and should turn your attention
immediately from the roast beef of old England to water gruel
and weak tea. A fine old English gentleman of your time of
day, who has left his liver behind him in India, and who has a
Sepoy bullet lodged for life in his left lung, and a strong ten-
dency to apoplexy besides, ought to mind what he eats and
drinks, and be on very friendly terms with the nearest clergy-
men. Aren't you going to read that letter, papa, and tell me
who the woman is who has the presumption to wTite to you
without my knowledge ? Now where are you going ? " For
Sir John had arisen hastily, his letters in his hand.

" To my study, Kathie. Finish your breakfast, darling, and
don't mind me." He stooped down suddenly and kissed her,
with almost passionate tenderness. " My darling ! my dar-
ling ! " he said. " Heaven bless and keep you always, what-
ever happens — whatever happens."

He repeated the last words with a sort of anguish in his
voice, then turned and walked out of the breakfast parlor be-
fore his very much amazed daughter could speak.

" Well ! " exclaimed Miss Dangerfield at last, " tliis does cap
the universe, doesn't it?" This question being addressed to
vacancy received no reply. " There's a mystery here, and I
don't like mysteries out of sensation novels. I have no secrets

KATHERINE.

from papa — what business has papa to have secrets from
me ? "

She arose with an injured air, gave the bell a vicious pull,
and walked in offended dignity back to her room. The broad,
black, slippery oaken staircase went up in majestic sweeps to
the regions above. Miss Dangerfield ascended it slowly and
with a face of perplexed thought.

" It was never an attack — don't tell me — it was that nasty,
vicious, spidery written little letter ! Now what woman wrote
that letter, and what business had she to write it ? I shall insist
upon papa giving me a full explanation at dinner-time. No
woman in Paris or any other wicked city shall badger my pre-
cious old soldier into an early grave. And meantime I shall
have a gallop on Ilderim over the golden Sussex downs."

She entered her room singing the song the handsome tenor
had sung at the concert the night before, the melody of whose
silver voice, the dusky fire of whose eyes, the dark foreign
beauty of whose face, had haunted her romantic seventeen-year-
old mind ever since.

" Rispondia a chi t' implora !
Rispondia a cara a me ! "

How handsome he was, how handsome — how handsome !
If ever I marry, it shall be a man — a demi-god like that. Peter
Dangerfield, indeed ! Nasty httle bore ! Still I would rather
have him in love with me than have no one at all. I wonder
if it is I, myself, he loves, or Scarswood Park, and the heiress
of eight thousand a year. Ninon ! my green riding-habit, and
tell them to fetch Ilderim around. And oh, Ninon, my child, tell
that tiresome groom I ^(?;27 want him perambulating behind me,
like an apoplectic shadow. Ilderim and I can take care of
ourselves."

"But, mademoiselle — Seer John's orders — "

"Ninon Duclos, will you do as / order you? I won't have
the groom — there ! I'm always shocking the resident gentry
of this neighborhood, and I mean to go on shocking them. I
feel as if I had a spy at my heels while that beef eating
groom is there. Help me on with my habit and say no more
about it."

Little Ninon knew a good deal better than to dispute Miss
Dangerfield's mood when Miss Dangerfield spoke in that tone.
Miss Dangerfield had boxed her ears before now, and was very
capable of doing it again. Perhaps, on the whole, smart little
Ninon rather liked having her cars impetuously slapped by her

KATHERINE. 1 7

impulsive young mistress, and the tingling curecTj as it invariably
was, by the present of Miss Katherine's second-best silk dress
half-an-hour after.

Looking very briglit and dashing, if not in the least pretty,
the heiress of Scarswood Park ran lightly down the slippery
stairs, out of the vast vaulted hall, where statues gleamed and
suits of mail worn by dead-and-gone Dangerfields centuries be-
fore, flashed back the sunshine. Her dark -green riding-habit
fitted her, as Katherine herself said, as though she had been
born in it," — the waving brightness of her brown hair was
twined in thick plaits aronnd her graceful head, and her pork-
pie hat with its scarlet bird's-wing perched ever so little on one
side, set off the piquante face beneath — a thoroughly English
face, despite the golden hue of a tropic sun.

"I beg your parding, miss," Roberts, the butler, said, step-
ping forward. He was a dignified, elderly, clerical-looking per-
sonage, like an archbishop in silk stockings and knee breeches ;
" but if you will hexcuse the remark, miss, I thinks as ow we're
going to 'ave a storm. There's that closeness in the hair, miss,
and that happearance in the hatmosphere that halways per-
ceeds a thunder-storm ; if I might make so bold miss, I should
hadvise you not to stay hout more than a hour, at the furthest."

" Good gracious, Roberts, what nonsense ! There's not a
cloud in the sky. Oh, well ! that one ! why it's no bigger than
my hand. I'm going to Castleford, and I don't believe in your
thunder-storms."

" You'll catch it, though, for all that, my young lady," solilo-
quized Mr. Roberts, looking after the slight girlish figure as it
dashed out of sight down the elm avenue mounted on a spirited
black horse. " Great storms 'ave come from clouds no bigger
than a man's 'and before now. But you're a young persing
that won't be hadvised, and you'll come to grief one of these
days through 'aving too much of your own way, as sure as my
name's Roberts."

And then Mr. Roberts philosophically went back to the
Castleford Chi^ofiicle, and never dreamed that he had uttered a
prophecy.

Miss Dangerfield dashed away over the breezy Sussex downs
— gold-green in the September sunshine. But the brilliance of
that sunlight grew dim and dimmer with every passing moment,
and looking up presently she saw that her " cloud no bigger
than a man's hand" had spread and darkened, and was fast
glooming over the whole sky. Old Roberts had been right then,

ICATHERINE.

after all ; and unless she stayed at Castleford, or turned back
at once, she was in for a drenching.

" I won't turn back and I won!t stop at Castleford," the bar-
onet's daughter said, setting her white teeth. "I'll get my
books, and I'll go home, and Ilderim and I shall outstrip the
lightning after all."

She dashed into the town. Castleford was a military depot,
and knots of red-coated officers grouped here and there, lowered
their crests, and gazed after her with admiring eyes as she flew

by- . ...

" Plucky girl that," said Captain Vere de Vere of the Plung-
ers Purple to his friend Captain Howard of the Bobtails Blue.
" Gad ! how squarely she sits her saddle. And what a waltzer
she is — as graceful as a Parisienne ballerina, and as springy.
Comfortable thing there waiting for some lucky beggar — clear
eight thousand a year, and strictly entailed. Not a handsome
girl, I admit, but what would you ? Doosidly clever, too, and
thafs a drawback. I hate your clever, women — put a fellow out
of countenance, by Jove ! Shouldn't know anything — women
shouldn't, beyond the three great feminine arts, dancing, dress-
ing, and looking pretty." With which terse summary of women
duties the Honorable Plantagenet Vere de Vere lit his huge
manilla and sauntered away. " She seemed uncommonly sweet
on that foreigner, that Creole fellow — what's his name — at the
concert last night," he thought. "It's always fellows like that-
with tenor voices and long eyelashes, that draw the matrimo-
nial prizes. Heard her tell Edith Talbot last night all the offi,
cers at Castleford had ginger whiskers, and knew no more how
to waltz than so many lively young elephants."

Miss Dangerfield's errand was to a Castleford bookseller's,
and her order was for all the newest novels. She came out
presently, followed by the obsequious shopman carrying her
parcel and bowing his thanks. The storm was very near now.
The whole sky was dark — there was that oppressive heat and
stillness in the air that usually precedes a thunder-storm.

" Coming ! " Miss Dangerfield thought, vaulting into her sad-
dle. " Now then, Ilderim, my beauty, my darling, outstrip the
storm if you can ! "

She was off like the wind, and in a few minutes the town lay
far behind her. But fate had decreed to take sides with Rob-
erts.

On the bare downs, treeless and houseless, the lightning
leaped out like a two-edged sword. There came the booming

KATHERINE.

crash of thunder, then a deluge of rain, and the mid-day sum-
mer tempest was upon her in its might. The swift, sudden
blaze of the lightning in his eyes startled the nervous system of
llderim. He tossed his little black Arabian head in the air
with a snort of terror, made a bound forward and fled over the
grassy plains with the speed of an express train.
" A runaway, by Jove ! "

A man darted forward with the cry upon his lips, and made
the agile spring of a wild-cat at llderim' s bridle rein. A mo-
ment's struggle and then the spirited Arab stood still under the
grasp of an iron hand, quivering in every limb, and his mis-
tress, looking down from her saddle, met full two of the most
beautiful eyes into which it had ever been her good fortune to
look.

It was Mr. Gaston Dantree, the handsome, silver-voiced
tenor of last night's concert, and a flash of glad surprise lit up
her face.

"Mr. Dantree ! " she cried, "you ! and in this tempest, and
at so opportune a moment. How shall I thank you for save —
for rendering me such very timely assistance ? "

" For saving my life," she had been going to say, but that
would have been coming it a little too strong. Her life had
not been in the smallest danger — she was a thorough horse-
woman, and could have managed a much wilder animal than
llderim. But the knight to the rescue was Mr. Dantree, and
last night Miss Dangerfield had looked for the first time into
those wondrous eyes of gold-brown light and fallen straight in
love with their owner.

He was very handsome ; perfectly, faultlessly- handsome,
with an olive complexion, a low forehead, a chiselled nose, a
thick black mustache, and two dark almond eyes, of "liquid
light." Not tall, not stout, not very manly-looking, perhaps,
in any way, men were rather given to sneer at Mr. Gaston
Dantree' s somewhat effeminate beauty. But they never sneered
long. There was that in Mr. Dantree' s black eyes, in Mr.
Dantree's musical voice, in Mr. Dantree' s trained muscles, that
would have rendered a serious difficulty a Uttle unpleasant. He
took off his hat now, despite the pouring rain, and stood before
the heiress of Scarswood, looking like the Apollo himself in a
shabby shooting jacket.

" You do me too much honor, ]\liss Dangerfield ; I don't really
think your life was in any danger — still it's pleasant to know
/ was the one to stop your black steed all the same. Rather

KATHERINE.

a coincidence, by the bye, that I should meet you here just at
present, as, taking advantage of last night's kind invitation, I
was about to present rnyself at Scarswood."

"And Scarswood is very well worth seeing, I assure you.
As it is not more than a quarter of a mile to the gates, suppose
you resume your hat and your journey ?"

"But, Miss Dangerfield, you will get your death at this pace,
in this downpour."

"Oh, no, I'll not," Katherine answered coolly. "The rain
will never fall that will give me my death ! You don't know
how strong I am. Come, Mr. Dantree, let me see if you can
walk as fast as Ilderim."

She looked down at him with that brilliant smile that lit her
dark face into something brighter than beauty.

"Come, Mr. Dantree," she repeated, "let me be cicerone
for once, and show you the splendors of Scarswood. It is the
show place of the neighborhood, you know, built by a Danger-
field, I am afraid to say how many centuries ago. We came
over with William, the what's-his-name, you know, or, perhaps,
William found us here when he arrived ; I'm not positive which.
We're a dreadfully old family, indeed, and I'm the last daughter
of the race; and I wouldn't be anybody but Katherine Dan-
gerfield, of Scarswood Park, for the world ! "

She dashed under the huge stone arch of masonry as she
spoke, half laughing, wholly in earnest. She was proud of the
old blood that 'flowed so spiritedly in her veins, of this noble
mansion, of the princely inheritance which was her birthright.

"Welcome to Scarswood, Mr. Dantree," she said, as he
passed by her side under the Norman arch.

He raised his hat.

"Thank you. Miss Dangerfield," he said gravely; and so,
still by her side, walked up the drippling elm avenue and into
the house.

His fatal beauty — fatal, though he was but seven-and-twenty,
to many women — had done its work once more. Her own
hand had brought him there, her own voice had spoken her
sentence. Gaston Dantree stood under the roof of Scarswood
Hall, and, until her dying hour, this day would stand out dis-
tinct from all other days in Katherine Dangerfield' s life.

Sir John sat in his library alone, that letter from Paris still
crushed in his hand as though it had been a serpent. It seemed
a very harmless serpent at first sight ; it only contained these
lines, written in an elegant, flowing Italian chirography :

KATHERINE.

" Paris, September 23.

"My Dear Sir John Dangerfield : How delightedly my pen
writes the title ! A baronet ! Who would have thought it ? And Scars-
wood Park is yours, and your income is clear eight thousand a year. Who
could have hoped it ? And you're back in England, and la petite — the lit-
tle Katherine. Darling little Katherine ! So full of spirit and self-v/ill,
as she was when I saw her last, and that is fifteen years ago. Ah, mon
dieu ! fifteen weary, weary, weary years. My dear baronet, I am coming
to see you ; I knozv you will be enchanted. On the third of October you
will send your cai-riage to Castleford Station to meet the 7.20 London ex-
press and me. And your servant will ask for Mrs. Vavasor. I adapt my
names as I do my conversation, to my company ; and, among the aristo-
cratic county families of Sussex, let me be aristocratic, too. Adieu, my
baronet, for the present ; and allow me to subscribe myself by the old and,
alas ! plebeian cognomen of , PIarriet Harman.

*'P. S. — Tell my pet, Katherine, I am coming. Kiss the darling child
for me."

He had sat for hours as he sat now, that letter crushed in his
hand, a grayish pallor on his face, his eyes looking blankly out
at the drifting rain, at the tossing, wind-l3lown trees. The light-
ning leaped forth at intervals, the summer thunder broke over
the roof, the summer rain beat on the glass. He neither saw
nor heard ; he sat like a man stunned by a great and sudden
blow.

''And I thought her dead," he muttered once. "I hoped
she was dead. I thought, after fifteen years' silence, I was
safe ; and now — oh, God ! will the wicked wish never be
granted ? "

He sat there still as he had sat since he left the breakfast
table, when the door was flung wide, and Katherine, dripping
like a mermaid, stood before him.

- " May I come in, papa, or have you fallen asleep ? Do you
know it is two o'clock, and past luncheon time, and that I
have brought home a guest? It's Mr. Dantree, papa — you re-
member him, you know — and he wants to see the house, and
I\N'^\\\. you to be civil to him. He's in the blue drawing-room ;
and while I'm changing my habit I wish you would go up and
entertain him. Papa ! " She broke off suddenly, catching
sight of his altered face. " What is the matter ? You look
like your own ghost ! "

He rose up stiffly, as if his limbs were cramped, crushing the
letter more tightly still in his hand. He turned away from the
window, so that his face was hidden from her, as he answered :

" I am a little cold. Who did you say was waiting, Kather-

22 MRS. VAVASOR.

ine ? Oh, yes ; the singing man — Gaston Dantree. By the
bye, Kathie, tell Harrison to prepare one of the front chambers
for a — a lady — an old friend of mine — who is coming to visit
us. She will be here on the evening of the third of October
next, and her name is Mrs. Vavasor."

CHAPTER II.

MRS. VAVASOR.

THE London express, due at Castleford station at 7.20,
rushed in with an unearthly shriek, like Sinbad's black
monster, with the one red, fiery eye. There were five
passengers for the town — four men and a woman.
The train disgorged them and then fled away, shrieking once
more, into the black October night.

A wet and gusty autumn evening, a black and starless sky
frowning down upon a black and sodden eartli. A bitter blast
blew up from the sea, and whirled the dead leaves in drifts be-
fore it. The station, dreary and isolated, as it is in the nature
of stations to be, looked drearier than ever to-night. Far off
the lamps of the town glimmered athwart the rain and fog,
specks of light in the eerie gloom.

The four male passengers who had quitted the train hurried
with their portmanteaus, buttoned to the chin, and with hats
slouched forward over their noses — honest shopkeepers of
Castleford, but looking villanously brigandish in the light of
the station lamps. Only the female passenger remained, and
she came tripping up the platform with a little satchel in her
hand, crisp and smiling, to the chief station official.

I beg your pardon, sir ; but can you tell me if the carriage
from Scarswood Park is waiting for me ? "

She was a beautiful little woman. Two great dark eyes of
lustrous light beamed up in the ofhcial's face, and a smile that
lit up the whole station with its radiance dazzled him. She had
feathery black ringlets — she had a brilliant high color — well, a
trifle too high, probably, for some fastidious tastes — she had
teeth wliite and more glistening than anything the official had
ever seen outside a dentist's show-case — she had the tiniest lit-

MRS. VAVASOR.

tie figure in the world, and she h?.d — as far as the official could
judge, for the glitter of her v/hole appearance — some three-and-
thirty years. With the flash of her white teeth, the sparkle of
the black eyes, the glov/ of the rose-red cheeks, she dazzled
you like a sudden burst of sunlight, and you never stopped to
think until afterward how sharp and rasping was the voice in
which she addressed 5^ou.

The carriage from. Scarswood? No, it had not — that is to
say the official did not know whether it had or not.

Would the lady be pleased to sit down ? there was a fire in
here, and he would go and ascertain.

"I certainly expected to find it v/aiting," the little lady said,
tripping lightly after him, " Sir John knows I am coming to-
night. He is such an old friend of mine — Sir John. It's odd
now the carriage isn't waiting — tell them when they do come,
Mrs. Vavasor is here."

"The carriage has come," announced the official on the mo-
ment. " This way, madame, if you please."

The close carriage, its lamps glov/ing like two red eyes in
the darkness, its horses pav/ing the ground, its coachman stiff
and surly on the- box, was drawn up at the station door. The
official held the door open — she thanked him with a radiant
smile, and then Sir John Dangerfield's carriage was flying
through the darkness of the wet October night over the muddy
high road to Scarswood Park. Little Mrs. Vavasor wiped the
blurred glass, and strained her bright black eyes as the vehicle
whirled up the avenue, to catch the first glimpse .of the house.
It loomed up at last, a big black shadow in the darkness.
Lights gleamed all along its front windows, and the distant
sound of music floated out into the night. Mrs. Vavasor's
fascinating face was at its brightest — the sparkle in her eyes
sparkled more than ever.

"A party — a ball perhaps. Let me see, the third of Octo-
ber— why la petite's birthday, of course. Miss Dangerfield,
Heiress of Scarswood, is just seventeen to-night. How stupid
of me to forget it." She laughed in the darkness and solitude,
a little low laugh not pleasant to hear. " I wonder how poor
dear Sir John will meet me, and what account he will give of
me to his daughter? It couldn't have been pleasant for him
to receive my note. I dare sav by this time he thought me
dead."

She stepped out a moment in the rain, then into the lighted
vestibule, then into the spacious entrance hall, where Mrs. Har-

MRS. VAVASOR.

rison, in a gray silk gown and white lace cap, and all the dig-
nicy of house-keeper, met her courtesy.
"Mrs. Vavasor, I think, ma'am?"

Mrs. Vavasor's enchanting smile answered in the affirmative.

" Sir John's orders are every attention, ma'am, and he was
to be told the minute you arrived. This way, if you please,
and you're to wait here, ma'am, until he comes to you."

She led the way upstairs, and threw open the door of a half-
lit, elegant apartment, all bright with upholstery, curtains, and
carpet of blue and gold.

" How very nice," Mrs. Vavasor remarked, glancing pleas-
antly around; "and you are the housekeeper, 1 suppose, my
good soul ? And your young lady is having a party on her
birth-night ? How pleasant it must be to be only seventeen,
and handsome, and rich, and a baronet's daughter."

Mrs. Vavasor laughed that sharp little laugh of hers that
rather grated on sensitive ears.

" Miss Dangerheld is handsome, no doubt, Mrs. -ah — "

" Harrison, ma'am," the housekeeper responded, rather stiffly.
" And Miss Katherine is very 'andsome, indeed, in my eyes.
I'll tell Sir John you're here, ma'am, at once, if you'll please sit
down."

But it pleased Mrs. Vavasor to stand — she turned up the
lamps until the room was flooded with light, then walked over
to a full-length mirror and looked at herself steadily and long.

"Fading!" she said: "fading.! Rouge, French coiffures,
enamel, belladonna, and the rest of it are very well; but they
can't make over a woman of thirty-seven into a girl of twenty.
Still, considering the life I ve led" — she set her teeth like a lit-
tle lion-dog. "Ah, what a bitter fight the battle of life has
been for me ! If I were wise I would pocket my wrongs, forego
my vengeance, keep my secret, and live hapi)y in Scarswood
Hall forever after. I wonder if Sir John would marry me if I
asked him ? "

The door opened and Sir John came in. Little Mrs. Vava-
sor turned round from the glass, folded her small hands, and
stood and looked at him with a smile on her face.

He was very pale, and grim as the grave. So for a moment
they stood, like tivo duelists waiting for the word, in dead si-
lenge. Then the lady spoke :

" How do you do, Sir John ? When we parted I remember
you found me admiring myself in the glass ; when we meet
again, after fifteen years — Dicu ! how old it makes one feel —

MRS. VAVASOR.

you find me before the glass again. Not admiring myself this
time, you understand. I sadly fear I have grown old and ugly
in all those hard-fought years. But you — you're not a day
older, and just the same handsome, stalwart soldier I remember
you. Won't you shake hands for the sake of old times, Sir
John, and say ' you are welcome ' to a poor little woman who
has travelled all the way from Paris to see you? "

She held out her little gloved hand. He drew away with a
gesture of repulsion, and crossing to the chimney-piece leaned
upon it, his face hard and set, in the light of the lamps.

" Why have you come here ? " he asked.

''Ah, Ciel / hear him! — such a cruel question. And after
fifteen years I stand all alone in this big, pitiless world, a poor
little friendless woman, and I come to the gallant gentleman
who fifteen years ago stood my friend — such a friend — and he
asks me in that cruel voice why I have come 1 "

"That will do, Mrs. Vavasor — this is not a theatre, nor am I
an appreciative audience. Tell me the truth, if you can— let
us have plain speaking. Why have you come here ? What
do you want ?"

" That is plain language certainly. I have come here be-
cause you are in my power — absolutely and wholly in my
power. And I want to stay here as an honored guest just as
long as I please. Is that plain enough to satisfy you, or would
you like me to put it still plainer ?"

Her deriding black eyes mocked him, her incessant smile set
his teeth on edge. Hatred — abhorrence — were in his eyes as
he looked at her.

''You want money, I suppose? Well, you shall have it,
though I paid you your price long ago, and you promised to
trouble me no more. But you can't stay here ; it is simply
impossible."

"It is simply nothing of the kind. I have come to stay —
my luggage is down yonder in the hall, and you will tell them
presently to fetch it up and show me to my room. I do want
money — yes, it is the universal want, and I mean to have it.
Eight thousand a year and Scarswood Park, one of the finest
seats in Sussex. And such an old family! — baronets created
by James the First, and knights centuries and centuries before !
How proud your daughter must feel of her ancient name and
lineage ! " And Mrs. Vavasor laughed aloud, her tinkling laugh
that struck shrilly on hypersensitive ears.
. " You will leave my daughter's name out of the question, if
3

MRS. VAVASOR.

you please," the baronet retorted haughtily ; " such lips as yours
sully her name. If you had one spark of womanly feeling,
one grain of self-respect left from the life you have led, a
woman's heart in your breast, you would never come near her.
In Heaven's name go — I will give you anything, anything, only
don't insist upon staying here."

For answer she walked back to the mirror, and deliberately
began removing her bonnet, gloves, and mantle.

"As I intend going down and joining your party presently,
and being introduced to the county families, I think I will go
up to my room at once, if you please. Sir John. By the way, is
Mr, Peter Dangerfield one of your guests on this happy occa-
sion ? It strikes me now I should like to know him. He is
your only brother's only son and heir-in-law — after your
daughter, of course. How awkward for that young gentleman
you should have a daughter at all. And the estate is strictly
entailed to the nearest of kinr There was a gleam of almost
dangerous malice in her eyes as she turned from the mirror.
" Yes, I am really anxious to make the acquaintance of Mr.
Peter Dangerfield."

He turned almost livid — he made a step towards her.

" You would not dare," he said huskily ; "you wretch ! You
would not dare — "

" I would dare anything except being late for Miss Danger-
field's birth-night party. Just seventeen ! a charming age, and
an heiress, and a beauty, no doubt ? Ah ! what a contrast to
my waning yOuth. I grow melancholy when I think of it. 1
was seventeen once, too, Sir John, though to look at me now
you mightn't believe it. Ring the bell, please, and let that nice
old creature, your housekeeper, show me to my room. And
when I'm ready — say — at ten o'clock — you will come for me
here, and present me to your guests. No, really, baronet — not
another word to-night on that subject. These serious matters
are so ejchausting ; and remember I've been travelling all day.
Ring the bell."

He hesitated a moment, then obeyed. The look of a hunt-
ed animal was in his eyes, and she stood there mocking him
to his face. It seemed about as unequal a contest as a battle
between a huge Newfoundland and a little King Charles, and
the King Charles had the victory this time.

Mrs. Harrison answere'd the bell ; in the brief interval no
word had been spoken.

MRS. VAVASOR.

" You will show Mrs. Vavasor to her room," Sir John said
shortly and sternly, turning to go.

*'And I will be dressed by ten, and you will call for me
here," responded Mrs. Vavasor gayly, over her shoulder.
" How fortunate I have been in not missing the opportunity of
offering my congratulations to Miss Dangerfield."

And then humming a gay French air, Mrs. Vavasor followed
the housekeeper up another broad oaken stairway, along a
carpeted corridor and into a velvet-hung chamber, bright with
firelight and waxlight, luxurious with cushions, chairs, and
lounges, fragrant with hot-house flowers, and rich with pictures.

"Your trunks are in the wardrobe adjoining, ma'am," Mrs.
Harrison said : " and if there is anything I can do or if Miss
Katherine's maid — "

"You good creature!" Mrs. Vavasor answered. "No, I
am my own maid — I haven't eight thousand a year, you know,
like your darling Miss Katherine, and can't afford luxuries.
Thanks, very much, and — good-night ; " and then the door
closed gently in the housekeeper's face, the key was turned,
and Sir John's guest was alone.

She stood and looked round the room with a smile, that
incessant smile that grew just a trifle wearisome after the first
half hour or so.

In the golden gleam of the light the tall mirrors flashed, the
carpet looked like a green bank of June roses, the silken
draperies shimmered, and the exotics in their tall glasses per-
fumed the warm air. Outside the rain beat, and the wind
blew, and the " blackness of darkness " reigned. She listened
to the wild beating of the storm in the park with a little deli-
cious shiver.

" Is it like my life ? " she said softly. " Have I come out
of the rain, and the wind, and the night, to the roses, and wax-
lights, and music of existence? Or is the gypsy, vagabond
instinct too strong in me, and will the roses fade, and their
perfume sicken, and the lights grow dim, and I throw it all
up some day, and go back to the old freedom and outlawry
once more ? The cedar palace and purple robes of the king
look very inviting, but I think I would rather have the tents
of Bohemia, with their freedom, and the stars shining through
the canvas roof"

An hour later there descended to the long drawing-room,
a lady — a stranger to all there. She appeared in their midst
as suddenly as though she had dropped from the rainy skies,

MRS. VAVASOR.

a charming little vision, in amber silk and Chantilly flounces,
and diamonds, and creamy roses in her floating feathery black
hair. A little lady whose, cheeks outshone all roses, and whose
eyes outflashed her diamonds, and whom Sir John Dangerfield
introduced to his guests as Mrs. Vavasor.
Who was Mrs. Vavasor ?

Women looked at her askance — the stamp of adventuress
was on her face and raiment.

The rouge was artistic, but it was rouge ; the amber silk
was shabby, the Chantilly, a very clever imitation, the dia-
monds Palais Royal beyond doubt. And then Sir John was
so pale, so gloomy — the old soldier, not used to society masks,
showed his trouble all too plainly in his perturbed face.

A woman not of their order — and the ladies' bows were
frigid and chilling as the baronet presented her.

But the men — what did they know of shabby silks and
brownish laces. They saw a brilliant little fairy of — well, five-
and-twenty summers, perhaps — by lamplight — with the eyes and
teeth of a goddess.

''But, Miss Dangerfield, Sir John — Miss Dangerfield ! Miss
Dangerfield ! " Mrs. Vavasor cried, tapping him . playfully
with her fan ; " those people are not the rose, though they
have come to-night to do honor to that gorgeous flower. I am
dying to behold Miss Dangerfield."

The stormy blue eyes of the Indian officer flashed ; he
gnawed his mustache, with an oath only heard by the lady on
his arm. Her shrill laugh answered it.

" For shame. Sir John ! So ill-bred, too ! And that face !
You look like the Death's-head the Egyptians used to have
at their banquets. What will people say ? There, I see her
— 1 see her ! that is Katherine."

She stopped short, still holding Sir John's arm, and a vivid
light came into her black eyes. The baronet's daughter was
advancing on the arm of Mr. Gaston Dantree.

''"Katherine," her father said, bringing out every word with
a husky elfort, "this is Mrs. Vavasor, a very old fri — acquaint-
ance." If his life had been at stake, he could not have said
" friend." " You have heard me speak of her ; she is our guest
for the present."

He turned abruptly, and walked away.

Katherine Dangerfield held out her hand — for the first, the
last time — to her father's acquaintance. Their eyes met, and
on the only occasion, perhaps, in all her seven-and-thirty years

MRS. VAVASOR.

of life, those of the elder woman fell. The bright gray eyes
of the girl looked straight through her, and distrusted and dis-
liked her with that first glance.

"My father's friends are always welcome to Scarswood."
She said it very briefly and coldly. " May I beg of you to
excuse me now, I am engaged for this waltz to Mr. Dantree."

She was looking her best to-night and almost pretty ; but
then "almost" is a very wide word.

She wore pink tissue, that floated about her like a rosy mist,
with here and there a touch of priceless old point, and a tiny
cluster of fairy roses. She had pearls on her neck, and gleam-
ing through her lovely auburn hair, a rich tea-rose nestling in
its silken brown.

She looked graceful ; she looked unspeakably patrician ;
she carried herself like a young princess. And the vivid light
in Mrs. Vavasor's black eyes grew brighter as she watched her
float away.

"She has her mother's face," she whispered to herself;
"she has her mother's voice — and I hate her for her mother's
sake ! A home in Scarswood forever, the fleshpots of Egypt,
the purple and fine linen of high life, would be very pleasant
things, but revenge is pleasanter still."

One of the gentlemen to whom she had, at her own special
request, been introduced, came up, as she stood, and solicited
the pleasure of a waltz.

"I am sure you can waltz," he said : "I can always tell, by
some sort of Terpsichorean instinct, I suppose, when a lady is,
or is not, a waltzer."

Mr. Peter Dangerfield was right at least in this particular-
instance*; Mrs. Vavasor waltzed like a fairy — like a French
fairy, at that.

She and the baronet's daughter whirled past each other more
than once — Katherine with her brown hair floating in a per-
fumed cloud, her lips breathless and apart, and her bright eyes
laughing in her partner's face.

"Is she in love with that very handsome young man, I won-
der ? " Mrs. Vavasor thought ; " and is he rich, and in love
with herl If so, then my plan of vengeance may be frustrated
yet."

"Mr. Dangerfield," to her partner, "please tell me the
name of that gentleman with whom Miss Dangerfield is danc-
ing? It strikes me I have somewhere seen his face before."

"Not unlikely, he's been everywhere. His name is Gaston

MRS. VAVASOR.

Dantree, and he is, I believe, a native of the State of Louis-
iana."

" An^ American ! He is very rich, then — all those Amer-
icans are rich."

" Dantree is not. By his own showing, he is poor as a
church-mouse ; his only wealth is his Grecian profile and his
tenor voice." There was just a tinge of bitterness in his tone
as he looked after the handsome Southerner and his partner.

" * My face is my fortune, sir, she said,' "

hummed gayly Mrs. Vavasor. " How, then, comes monsieur
to be here, and evidently first favorite in the regards of Sir
John's heiress?"

" His handsome face and musical tenor again. Miss Dan-
gerfield met him at a concert, not three weeks ago, and behold
the result ! We, poor devils, minus classic noses, arched eye-
brows, and the voices of archangels, stand out at the cold and
gaze afar off at him in Paradise."

" Does Sir John like it ? "

" Sir John will like whatever his daughter likes. Any human
creature persistent enough can do what ^^Jiey please with Sir
John. For his daughter he is her abject slave."

The bitterness was bitterer than ever in Mr. Peter Danger-
field's voice; evidently the heiress of Scarswood and her hand-
some Southerner were sore subjects.

He was a pale-faced, under-sized young man, with very light
hair and eyes — so light that he was hopelessly near-sighted —
and a weak, querulous voice. It was just a little hard to see
Scarswood slipping out of the family before his very eyes
through the headstrong whims of a novel-reading, beauty-loving,
chit of a girl.

He, too, was poor — poor as Gaston Dantree himself — and
at thirty, mammon was the god of his idolatry, and to reign
one day at Scarswood, the perpetual longing of his life.

" And Miss Dangerfield is a young lady whose slaves must
obey, I think ; and Scarswood will go out of the family. Such
a pity, Mr. Dangerfield ! Now, I should think you might pre-
vent that."

She made this audacious home-thrust looking full in his pale,
thin face, with her black, resolute eyes.

The blood flushed redly to the roots of his dull yellow hair.

" I ! My dear madame," — with a hard laugh — "/stand no
chance. I'm not a handsome man."

MRS. VAVASOR.

Miss Dangerfield — I am a woman, and may say so — is not
a handsome girl."

All the greater reason why she should worship beauty in
others. Gaston Dantree, without a sou in his pocket, a for-
eigner, an adventurer, for all we know to the contrary, will one
day reign lord of Scarswood. See them now ! Could any-
thing be more lover-like than they are, Mrs. Vavasor ? "

He spoke to her as though he had known her for years.
Some rapport made those two friends at once.

She looked where he pointed, her smile and glance at their
brightest.

The waltz had ended; leaning on her handsome partner's
arm, the last flutter of Miss Dangerfield' s pink dress vanished
in the green distance of the conservatory.

" I see ; and in spite of appearances, Mr. Dangerfield, I
wouldn't mind betting — my diamonds, say, against that botan-
ical specimen in your buttonhole — that Mr. Gaston Dantree,
Grecian profile, tenor voice, and all, will never reign lord of
Scarswood ; and for you — why you know the old rhyme :

" ' He either dreads his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who fears to put it to the touch.
To win or lose it all.' "

She walked away, with her last words, her ever-mocking
laugh coming back to him where he stood. What did the
woman mean? How oddly she looked and spoke. How
could she prevent Gaston Dantree marrying Katherine ? But
the last advice was good— why despair before speaking ?

" To win or lose it all ! " repeated Peter Dangerfield, strok-
ing his 'feeble, colorless mustache. "By George! \ will try.
She can but say no."

There was a call for Mr. Dantree on the instant — Mr. Dan-
tree was wanted to sing.

Mr. Dangerfield stood where he was, and saw the dark-eyed
tenor emerge leisurely from the conservatory, and— alone.
He sat down at the piano ; his slender, shapely hands flew
over the keys in a brilliant prelude. Everybody was listening
— now was his time. Katherine was in the conservatory yet.
He made his way slowly down the long vista of rooms to
where, at the extreme end, the green brightness of tropic plants
gleamed in the lamplight.

She still stood where her late companion had left her, in the
recess of a window, her robe of pink tissue shining rosily, her

MRS. VAVASOR.

jewels glancing softly. Tall tropic plants spread their fan-like
leaves about her ; the air was rich and faint with exotic odors ;
and over all the soft, abundant light poured down.

Gaston Dantree's song floated in — an Irish song, half gay,
half sad, wholly sweet — and a brooding tenderness lay on the
girl's face — a great happiness, new and sweet — and made
it almost beautiful. The rain lashed the windows, the wind
of the October night blew in long, lamentable blasts through
the rocking trees : but the storm and darkness without only
made the contrast within the more brilliant.

"Katherine!"

She neither saw nor heard him until he was close at her
side. She lifted up her dreamy eyes, her trance of bliss over.

" Oh, you, Peter ! What an odious habit you have of steal-
ing in upon one like a cat. I never heard you."

" You never heard me. Miss Dangerfield ? You need hardly •
tell me that. You were listening far too intently to Mr. Gas-
ton Dantree to hear anything else."

" Was I ?" retorted Katherine. They rarely met, those two,
except to quarrel. "Well, all I can say is that Mr. Gaston
Dantree is very well worth listening to, which is more than I
can say for you, cousin Peter."

"You mean I'm not a singing man, I suppose, Kathie?
Well, I admit my brains do not lie in my throat and lungs."

" Nor anywhere else, Mr. Dangerfield."

" And when is it to be, Katie ?" Mr. Dangerfield demanded,
folding his arms; " when are we all to offer our congratulations ?
Such a flirtation as yours, my dear cousin, with this x\pollo
Belvidere from the Southern States, can have but one end-
ing."

"And such a flirtation as yours with this pretty Mrs. Vavasor,
from nobody knows where, can have but one ending, too, I
suppose," responded Katherine, coming up to time bravely.
" She is some five or six years your senior, I should think ; but,
where true love exists, what does a little disparity of years sig-
nify ? A case of love at sight ; was it not, cousin ? "

"You might have spared me that taunt, Katherine; you
know very well who it is / am so unfortunate as to love."

"Upon my word, I don't. My little cousin Peter, his loves
and hates, are subjects that trouble me very slightly. There !
Mr. Dantree's song is done, and they are playing the Lancers.
Suppose we leave off quarreling and go and have a cousinly
quadrille ? "

MRS. VAVASOR,

" Not yet, Kathie. I can endure this suspense no longer.
No, you shall not go ; I will be heard ! To watch you as I
have watched you to-night with that man would simply drive
me mad ! "

"Would it? Then why on earth .do you do it ? I don't
want to be watched, and I don't suppose Mr. Dan tree does,
either. You mean Mr. Dantree, don't you ? And, Peter,
don't put on that tragic face; it isn't your style, dear. You're
too fair complexioned. And what business is it of yours, and
why should it drive you mad ? "

" Little need to ask, Katherine. You know only too well —
because I love you. Kathie, don't look like that ! I love
you, and you know it well. I haven't had thoughts or eyes for
any living creature but you since you first came here. Ah,
Kathie ! Listen to me. Don't laugh, as I see you are going
to do. I love you with all my heart — better than ever that fel-
• low can do — and I ask you to be my wife. Katherine, don't
laugh at me, for Heaven's sake ! "

But the warning came too late.

Katherine broke out into a ringing peal of laughter, that the
music happily drowned.

Peter Dangerfield, looking desperately in earnest, very, very,
yellow, and, with folded arms, stood glaring at her in an un-
commonly savage way for so tender a declaration.

''I beg your pardon, Peter, but I can't help it. The idea of
marrying you — only five feet five inches, and an attorney, and
my first cousin ! First cousins should never marry, you know.
What would papa say, you silly little boy, if he could hear
this ? "

" My uncle knows," the young man answered, with sullen
anger \ " I spoke to him a month ago."

Miss Dangerfield opened her big, gray eyes.

" Oh, you did? That's what he meant, then, that morning
after the concert. I remember ; he tried to plead your cause.
And you spoke to him first ; and you're a lawyer, and knew no
better than that! No, Peter; it is not possible. You're a
nice little fellow, and I think a great deal of you ; and I'd do
almost anything you wanted me, except — marry you. That's
a little too much, even for such good nature as mine."

"Then Pm to consider myself rejected ?"

"Now, Peter, don't put on that ill-tempered face ; it quite
spoils your good looks, and you know you have none to spoil
— spare, I mean. Well, yes, then ; I am afraid you must con-
3*

MRS. VAVASOR.

sider yourself rejected. I really should like to oblige you in
this matter, but you perceive I can't. Come, let us make it
up — I'm not angry — and take me back to the drawing-room for
my dance. It is a sin to lose such music as that."

"In one moment, Katherine. Will you answer me this,
please ? Is it for Gaston Dantree I am refused ? "

Cousin Peter, I shall lose my temper if you keep on. If
, there were no Mr. Dantree in the case I should reject you all
the same. You're very well as a first cousin ; as a husband —
excuse me ! I wouldn't marry you if you were the only man
left in the world, and the penalty of refusing you be to go to
my grave an old maid. Is that answer decisive enough ? "

"Very nearly ! Thank you for your plain speaking, Kathie."
He was white with suppressed anger. "But lest we should
misunderstand each other in the least, won't you tell me whether
or no Mr. Dantree is to be the future lord of Scarswood Park?
Because in that case, for the honor of the family I should en-
deavor to discover the gentleman's antecedents. A classic
profile and a fine voice for singing may be sufficient virtues in
the eyes of a young lady of seventeen, but I'm afraid they will
hardly satisfy the world or Sir John."

"For the world I don't care that / For Sir John, whatever
makes me happy will satisfy him. I am trying to keep my
temper, Peter, but don't provoke me too far — it isn't safe.
Will you, or will you not, take me out for the dance ? I am
not accustomed to ask favors twice."

" How queenly she says it — the heiress of Scarswood ! "
His passion was not to be restrained now. " And it is for this
Yankee singing man — this needy adventurer — this negro min-
strel in his own land, that I am cast off ? "

She whirled round upon him in a storm of sudden fury, and
made a step toward him. But rage lent him courage ; he stood
his ground.

" You little wretch ! " cried Miss Dangerfield, " how dare
you stand there and say such things to me ? How dare you
call Gaston Dantree an adventurer ? You, who would not pre-
sume to call your soul your own in his presence ! Negro min-
strel, indeed ! You wretched little attorney ! One should be
a gentleman to judge gentlemen. That's why Mr. Dantree's
beyond your judgment ! Don't ever speak to me again.
You're very offer is an insult. To think that I — / would ever
marry you, a little rickety dwarf! "
. And then dead silence fell.

MRS. VAVASOR.

I don't uphold this heroine of mine — her temper is abomina-
ble, I allow ; but the moment the last words passed her lips
her heart smote her. Peter Dangerfield stood before her white
as death, and trembling so that he was forced to grasp a gilded
flower stand for support.

" Oh, Peter ! I am sorry ! " she cried out, I didn't mean
that ! — I didn't ! I didn't ! — forgive it — forget it — my temper
is horrible — I'm a wretch, but you know," suffering a slight
relapse, " it was all your own fault. Shake hands, cousin ; and
oh, do — do — do forget my wicked M^ords ! "

But he drew back from the outstretched hands, smiling a
ghastly smile enough.

" Forget them ? Certainly, Cousin Katherine ! I'm not the
sort of fellow to bear spite. You're very good and all that, but
if it's the same to you, I'll not shake hands. And I won't keep
you from dancing that quadrille any longer. I'll not be your
partner — I don't dance as well as Mr. Dantree, and I see him
coming this way now. Excuse me for having troubled you
about this presumptuous love of mine ; I won't do it again."

Then he turned away, and Gaston Dantree, looking like a
picture in a frame, stood in the rose-wreathed entrance arch.

" I am sorry, and I have apologized," Katherine said coldly.
^' I can do no more."

" No more is needed. Pray don't keep Mr. Dantree wait-
ing. And I would rather he did not come in here just now."
Come, Kathie," Mr. Dantree called softly.

It had come to that then ; it was " Kathie " and Gaston."
He saw him draw her hand under his. arm as one having the
right, whisper something in her ear that lit her face with sun-
shine, and lead her away.

Peter Dangerfield stood alone. He watched them quite out
of sight — his teeth set, his face perfectly colorless, and a look
in his small eyes bad to see.

" I have read of men who sold their souls to the devil for a
price," he said, between his set teeth. " I suppose the days
for such bargains are over, and souls are plentiful enough in
the kingdom of his dark majesty, without paying a farthing.
But if those days could come again, and Satan stood beside me,
I would sell my soul now for revenge oxs.you ! "

" Are you sure you have one to sell ? " a clear, sharp voice
close behind him said. " I never thought lawyers were
troubled with those inconvenient appendages — hearts and souls.
Well, if you have, keep it ; it's of no use to me. And I'm not

36 AMONG THE ROSES.

Satan, either, but yet I think for a fair price / can give you
your revenge."

He whirled round with a stifled exclamation, and saw at his
elbow — Mrs. Vavasor.

CHAPTER III.

AMONG THE ROSES.

iHE stood beside him, her ceaseless smile at its bright-
est on her small face, looking like some little female
Mephistopheles come to tempt a modern Faust. He
put up his eye-glass to look at her. What a gorgeous
little creature she was ! It was his first thought.

In the dim yellow light of the conservatory, the amber silk
glittered with its pristine lustre, the yellow roses she wore
made such an admirable foil to her dead black hair.

" What the deuce brings me here ? Don't trouble yourself to
ask the question, mon anii^ your face asks it for you.' I've
been eavesdropping," in her airiest tone ; " not intentionally,
you understand," as the young man continued to stare speech-
lessly at her through his eye-glass. " Entering the conserva-
tory by the merest chance, I overheard Miss Dangerfield's last
words to you ; * a little more than kin, and less than kind,' were
they not ? Permit me to congratulate you, Mr. Dangerfield."

" Congratulate me ! " Mr. Dangerfield repeated, dropping his
double-barrelled eye-glass and glowering vengefully at the fair
creature by his side. " In Heaven's name, on what? "

" On having escaped becoming the husband of a termagant.
Believe me, not even Scarswood and eight thousand a year
would counterbalance so atrocious a temper as that."

" Eight thousand a year would counterbalance with me even
a worse temper than that, Mrs. Vavasor," the lawyer answered,
grimly. " I am only sorry I am not to have the opportunity
of trying. Once my wife, I think I could correct the acidity of
even Katherine Dangerfield's temper and tongue."

" No you could not. Petruchio himself would fail to tame
this shrew. You see, Mr. Dangerfield, I speak from past
experience. I know what kind of blood flows in our spirited
Katherine' s veins."

AMONG THE ROSES.

" Very good blood, then, I am sure — very good-tempered,
too, in the main — at least on the father's side."

" Ah ! On the fathers side ! " The sneer with which this
was said is indescribable. " May I ask if you knew her mother,
Mr. Dangerfield ? "

" Certainly I did — a deucedly fine woman, too, and as ami-
able as she was handsome. Colonel Dangerfield — Sir John
was colonel then — married a Miss Lascelles, and Katherine was
born in this very house, while they were making their Christ-
mas visit. You may have known her father and mother — you
certainly seem to know Sir John suspiciously well — but don't
tell me Katherine took her tantrums from either of them — I
know better."

Mrs. Vavasor listened quietly, adjusting her bracelets, and
burst out laughing when he ceased.

" I see you do — you know all about it. How old was Kath-
erine when her father and mother left England for India ? "

" Two or three years, or thereabouts. It seems to me —
being so well acquainted, and all that, as you say — you ought
to know yourself Was it in England or India you came to
know the Governor so well ? "

In neither, Mr. Dangerfield." . ^

"Or does your acquamtance extend only to the baronet?'
Gad ! he looked like an incarnate thunder-cloud when present-
ing you. His past remembrances of you must be uncommonly
pleasant ones, I should say. Did you know the late Mrs.
Colonel Dangerfield, Mrs. Vavasor ? "

'*I knew the late Mrs. Colonel Dangerfield, Mr. Danger-
field."

" And yet you say Katherine takes her temper from her
mother. My late aunt-in-law must have greatly changed, then,
from the time I saw her last."

" I repeat it," Mrs. Vavasor said, tapping her fan. " Kath-
erine inherits her most abominable temper from her mother, the
only inheritance her mother ever left her. And she looks like
her — wonderfully like her — so like," Mrs. Vavasor repeated in
a strange, suppressed voice, " that I could almost take her for,
a ghost in pink gauze."

Like her mother ! " cried Peter Dangerfield. I beg your
pardon, Mrs. Vavasor, but you must be dreaming. She is no
more like her mother than I am. The late Mrs. Dangerfield
was a handsome woman."

" Which our spirited heiress never will be. I agree with you,

AMONG THE ROSES.

Mr. Dangerfield ; and yet you told me you were in love with
her, and wanted to marry her."

"I meant what I said," the young man responded, sullenly.
" I do want to marry her."

" Or her fortune — which ? "

"I don't see that that'sany business of yours, Mrs. Vavasor ;
and I don't see what I am standing here abusing Katherine to
you for. You don't like her, do you ? Now what has she ever
done to you ? "

"Nothing whatever — /haven't seen Katherine until to-night
for fifteen years. She was two years old then — a little demoi-
selle in pantalettes, and too young to have an enemy."

" Yet you are her enemy, Mrs. Vavasor, and you sit at her
table and eat her bread and salt. And you speak of her mother
as if you detested her. Is it for the mother's sake you hate the
daughter ? "

"For the mother's sake." She repeated the four short words
with a concentrated bitterness that rather repelled her compan-
ion. " And you hate her for her own, Mr. Dangerfield." She
laid her little hand suddenly and sharply on his arm, and sent
the words in his ear in a sibillant whisper. " We both hate her ;
let us make common cause together, and have our revenge."

Peter Dangerfield threw off the gloved hand that felt unpleas-
antly like a steel manacle on his wrist.

" Don't be melodramatic, if you please, Mrs. Vavasor. Re-
venge, indeed. And I a lawyer. You would make an uncom-
monly good first actress, my dear madam, but in private life
your histrionic talents are quite thrown away. Revenge ! bah !
Why the vendetta has gone out of fashion even in Corsica. We
don't live in the days of the handsome Lucrezia, when a per-
fumed rose or a pair of Jouvin's best kids sent one's adversary
to glory. There is no such word as revenge in these latter
days, my dear madam. If one's wife runs away from one with
some other fellow, we don't follow and wipe out our dishonor
in his blood ; we simply go to Sir Creswell and get a divorce.
If we runaway with some other fellow's wife, that other fellow
sues us for damages, and makes a good thing of it. Believe
me, Mrs. Vavasor, revenge is a word that will soon be obsolete,
except on theatrical boards. But at the same time I should like
to know what you mean ? "

" What is that you sing me there ? " Mrs. Vavasor cried, in
the French idiom she used when excited. " While the world
lasts, and men love, and hate, and use swords and pistols, re-

AMONG THE ROSES.

venge will never go out of fashion. And you hate your cousin
— hate her so that if looks were lightning she would have fallen
at your feet ten minutes ago. * A little rickety dwarf.' " She
laughed her shrill, somewhat elfish laugh. " Not a pleasant
name to be called, Mr. Dangerfield."

His face blackened at the remembrance, his small, pale eyes
shot forth that steely fire light blue eyes only can flash.

" Why do you remind me of that ? " he said hoarsely. " She
did not mean it — she said so."

"She said so — she said so ! " his companion cried, scornfully.
"Peter Dangerfield, you're not the man I take you for if you
endure quietly such an insult as that. And look at her now,
with Gaston Dantree, that penniless tenor-singer, with the voice
of an angel and the face of a god. Look how she smiles up at
him. Did she ever give you such a glance as that ? See how
he bends over her and whispers in her ear. Did she ever Hsten
to you with that happy face, those drooping, downcast eyes ?
Why she loves that man — that impoverished adventurer ; and
love and happiness make her almost beautiful. And she called
you a rickety dwarf Perhaps even now they are laughing over
it rather as a good joke."

" Woman ! Devil ! " her victim burst out, goaded to frenzy.
" You lie ! Katherine Dangerfield would stoop to no such base-
ness as that ! "

"Would she not ? You have yet to learn to what depths of
baseness women like her can stoop. She has bad, bitter bad
blood in her veins, I tell you. She comes of a daring and un-
scrupulous race. Oh, don't look at me like that — I don't mean
the Dangerfields. And you will bear her merciless taunt, and
stand quietly by while she marries yonder handsome coxcomb,
and go and be best man at the wedding, and take your hat off
forever after when you meet Gaston Dantree, Lord of Scars-
wood Park. Bah ! Peter Dangerfield, you must have milk and
water in your veins instead of blood, and I am only wasting
my time here talking to you. I'll detain you no longer. I
wish you good-evening."

She had goaded him to the right point at last. As she turned
to go he caught her arm fiercely and held her back.

" Stay !" he cried hoarsely ; "you shall not go ! You do
well to say I hate her. And she shall never marry Gaston
Dantree if I can prevent it. Only show me the way how ! Only
show me ! " he exclaimed, breathless and hoarse, " and see
whether 1 have blood in my veins instead of milk and water —

AMONG THE ROSES.

a man's passions in my heart — though it be the heart of a
rickety dwarf ! "
Ah ! that blow struck home.

" Look at them once again, Mr. Dangerfield, lest your brave
resolutions should cool — look at Katherine Dangerfield and her
lover nowy

The baronet's daughter was waltzing again — she had a pas-
sionate love of dancing, and floated with the native grace of a
Bayadere.

She was waltzing with Dantree, her long rose-wreathed brown
hair floating over his shoulder, her happy face uplifted as she
whirled down the long vista in his arms to the intoxicating
music of the " Guard's Waltz."

You see!" Mrs. Vavasor said significantly; "he who runs
may read, and he who stands still may understand. His melan-
choly tenor voice, his lover-like sighs, his dark, pathetic eyes
have done their work — Katherine Dangerfield is in love with
Gaston Dantree ! It is a very old story : a lady of high degree
has * stooped to conquer.' Sir John won't take it, I dare say ;
but could Sir John refuse his idolized darling anything ? If she
cried for the moon she would have it. And she is so impetuous,
dear child ! She will be Mrs. Gaston Dantree in the time it
would take another young lady to decide the color of the brides-
maid's dresses."

"She shall never be Mrs. Gaston Dantree if I can prevent
it ! " Peter Dangerfield cried, vehemently, his pale blue eyes
filled with lurid rage.

"Yes, but unhappily there is the rub — if you can prevent it.
You don't suppose now," Mrs. Vavasor said, thoughtfully, " this
Mr. Dantree is in love with her ? "

" I know nothing about it. He looks as though he were, at
least — and be hanged to him ? "

"That tells nothing. She is the heiress of Scars wood, and
Mr. Dantree — like yourself, I haven't a doubt — is in love with
that. I wonder if either of you would want to marry her if she
hadn't a farthing — if her brown hair and her fine figure were her
only fortune ? "

" I can answer for myself — I would see her at the deuce
first ! "

"And unless I greatly mistake him, Mr. Dantree would also.
How she looks up at him ! how she smiles ! — her infatuation is
patent to the whole room. And after her, you are the heir-at-
law, Mr. Dangerfield."

AMONG THE ROSES.

•"I don't see what that's got to do with it," the young man
retorted, sulkily. I am likely to remain heir-at-law to the
end of my days, for what I see. The governor will go off the
hooks, and she will marry, and there will be a son — half-a-dozen
of 'em, most likely — and my cake is dough. I wish you wouldn't
talk about it at all ; it's of no use, a man howHng his life out for
what he never can get."

" Certainly not — for what he can't get ; but I don't perceive
the ' can't get ' in this case. Three people stood between Colo-
nel Dangerfield and the title six months ago, and they — as you
express it in the elegantly allegorical language of the day—
' went off the hooks ; ' and lo ! our Indian officer, all in a
moment, steps into three pairs of dead men's shoes, a title, and
a fortune. Scarswood may change hands unexpectedly before
the year ends again."

"Mrs. Vavasor — if that be your name — /don't understand
you. What's the use of badgering a man in this way? If
you've got anything to say, say it. I never was any hand at
guessing riddles. What the deuce do you mean ? "

Mrs. Vavasor laughed gayly.

" Forcible, but not polite ! Did you ever have your fortune
told, Mr. Dangerfield ? I have some gypsy blood in my veins.
Give me your hand, and I'll tell it, without the proverbial piece
of silver."

He held it out mechanically. Under all this riddle-like talk,
he knew some strong meaning, very much to the point, laj^
What could she mean ? Who could she be ? She took his thin,
pale, cold hand, and peered into the palm, with the prettiest
fortune-telling air imaginable.

" A strangely chequered palm, my gentleman ; all its strange
future to come. I see a past, quiet and uneventful. I see a
character, thoroughly selfish, avaricious, and unprincipled. No,
don't take your hand away ; it will do you good to hear the
truth once in a way, Mr. Dangerfield. You can hate with tiger-
ish intensity ; you would commit any crime under Heaven for
money, so that you were never likely to be found out. You
care for nobody but yourself, and you never will. A woman
stands in your path to fortune — a woman you hate. That ob-
stacle will be removed. I see here a ruined home ; and over
ruin and death you step into fortune. Don't ask me how.
The lines don't tell that, just yet ; they may very soon. You
are to be a baronet, and the time is very near. How do you
like your fortune. Sir Peter Dangerfield, that is to be ? "

AMONG THE ROSES.

She dropped his hand and looked him full in the face, stream-
ing fire in her black eyes.

" Hush-h-h ! for Heaven's sake ! " he whispered, in terror.
" If you should be overheard ! "

" But how do you like it ? "

"There can be no question of that. Only I don't under-
stand. You are mocking me. What you predict can never
happen."

"Why not?"

" Why not ! why not ! " he exclaimed, impatiently. " You
don't need to ask that question. Katherine Dangerfield stands
between me ; a life as good — ^better than my own."

The little temptress in amber silk laid her canary-colored
glove on his wrist and drew him close to her.

"What I predict will happen, as surely as we stand here.
Don't ask me how; I can't tell you to-night. There's a secret
in Sir John Dangerfield' 5 life — a secret I have been paid well
to keep, which I have kept for fifteen years, which no money
will make me keep much longer. I have a debt of long stand-
ing to pay off — a debt of vengeance, contracted before Kather-
ine Dangerfield was born, which Katherine Dangerfield yet
must pay. What will you give me if within the next three
months I make you heir of Scarswood ? "

"You?"

" I ! "

" It is impossible ! "

" It is not ! " She stamped her foot. " Quick ! Tell me !
What will you give ? "

" I don't understand you."

" I don't mean that you shall yet. Will you give me ten
thousand pounds the day that makes you — through me, mind —
lord of Scarswood ? Quick ! Here come our lovers. Yes or
no?"

"K?j."

"It is well. I shall have your bond instead of your promise
soon. Not a whisper of this to a living mortal, or all is at an
end. We are sworn allies, then, from this night forth. Shake
hands upon it."

They clasped hands.

He shivered a little, unprincipled though he was, as he felt
the cold, steely clasp of her gloved fingers. She glanced up,
a flash of triumph lighting her eyes, to where Katherine Dan-
gerfield, still leaning on her handsome lover's arm, approached.

LOVE UNDER THE LAMPS.

"Now, then, my baronet's daughter — my haughty little
heiress — look to yourself! I am a woman who never yet
spared friend or foe who stood in my path. Vce, victis / "

She vanished as she spoke ; and Peter Dangerfield, feeling
like a man in a dream, his head in a whirl, glided after her, as
his cousin and her cavalier stepped under the arch of rose and
myrtle.

CHAPTER IV.

LOVE UNDER THE LAMPS.

OW charmingly cool it is here," Miss Dangerfield's
fresh young voice was saying, as they came in ; " how
bewitching is this pale moonshiny sort of lamplight
' among the orange trees and myrtles ; and oh ! Mr.
Dantree, how delicious that last waltz was. You have my step
as nobody else has it, and you waltz so hght — so light ! It
has been a heavenly evening altogether ! "

She threw herself into a rustic chair as she spoke, where
traihng vines and crimson bloom formed a brilliant arch over
her head, and looked up at him with eyes that shone like stars.

" I wonder if it is only because balls and parties are such
rare things to me that I have enjoyed this so greatly, or be-
cause I am just seventeen, and everything is delightful at
seventeen ; or because — ^because — Mr. Dantree, I wonder if
you have enjoyed yourself?"

" I have been in paradise. Miss Dangerfield."
" And how gloomily he says it — and how pale and wretched
he looks," laughed Katherine, " Your paradise can't be any
great things, judging by your face at this moment ! "

"Miss Dangerfield, it is because my paradise has been so
perilously sweet that I look gloomy. The world outside, bleak
and barren, must have looked trebly bleak to Eve when she
left Eden."

"Eve shouldn't have left it then — she should have had
sense and left the tempting apple alone."

" Ah, but it was so tempting, and it hung so deliciously
within reach ! And Eve forgot, as I have done, everything,
the fatal penalty — all but the heavenly sweetness of the passing
moment."

LOVE UNDER THE LAMPS.

" Well," Miss Dangerfield said, fluttering her fan, and look-
ing upward, " I may be stupid, Mr. Dantree, but I don't quite
catch your metaphor. Eve ate that apple several thousand
years ago, and was very properly punished, but what has that
to do with you ? "

" Because I, like Eve, have eaten my apple to-night, and to-
morrow, the gates of my earthly paradise close upon me for-
ever."

Divested of its adjuncts — there wasn't much, perhaps, in
this speech ; but given a young lady of seventeen, of a poetic
and sentimental turn of mind — soft, sweet music swelling in
the distance — a dim light — the fragrance of tropic flowers and
warmth, and a remarkably good-looking young man — -it implies
a great deal. He certainly looked dangerously handsome at
this moment, with his pale Byroftic face, his fathomless dark
eyes, his whole air of impassioned melancholy — a beauty as
fatal as the serpent to Eve in his own allegory.

No doubt that serpent came to our frail first mother in very
beautiful guise, else she had never Hstened to his seductive
words.

The soft white lace, the cluster of blush-roses on Katherine's
breast, rose and fell. She Avas only seventeen, and over head
and ears in love, poor child.

She laughed at his romantic words, but there was a little
tremor in her clear tones as she spoke :

"Such a sentimental speech, Mr. Dantree. Sussex is a very
nice county, and Scarswood a very agreeable place, no doubt ;
but neither quite constitute my idea of paradise. And what do
you mean by saying you leave to-morrow ? "

" I mean I dare stay no longer. I should never have come
here at all — I wish to Heaven I never had !"

It was drawing near ! Her heart was throbbing with rapt-
ure ; she loved him, and she knew what was coming, but still
she parried her own delight.

" Please don't be profane, Mr. Dantree. You wish you had
never come ? Now I call that anything but complimentary to
the neighborhood and to me. Be kind enough to explain your-
self, sir. Why do you wish you had never come ? "

" Because I have been mad — because I am mad. Oh,
Katherine ! can't you see ? Why will you make me speak
what I should die rather than utter ? Why will you make me
confess my madness — confess that I love you ? "

He made an impassioned gesture, and turned away. Mac-

LOVE UNDER THE LAMPS,

ready could not have done it better. His voice, his glance,
his passionate words, were the perfection of first-class drama.
And then there was dead silence.

" You do not speak ! " he cried. " I have shocked you ; you
hate, you despise me as I deserve ! " He was really getting
alarmed in spite of his conviction, that she was hopelessly in
love with him. "Well, I deserve it all ! I stand before you
penniless, with neither noble name nor fortune to offer you, and
I dare to tell you of my hopeless passion. Katherine, forgive
me ! "

The rich green carpet was soft, there was no one to see, and
he sank gracefully on one knee before her, and bowed his head
over her hand.

" Forgive me if you can, and tell me to go ! "

Then his soft tenor tones died away pianissimo in stifled
emotion, and he lifted her hand to his mustached lips. It
trembled — with an ecsfeacy too great for words. He loved her
like this — her matchless darling — and he told her to bid him
go ! Her fingers closed over his, tighter and tighter — she bent
down until he could almost hear the loud throbbing of her heart.

"Go!" she whispered, faintly. "Gaston, I should die if
you left me ! "

He clasped both her hands, with a wild, theatrical start, and
gazed at her in incredulous amaze.

"Katherine ! do you know what you say ? "Have I heard
you aright? For pity's sake, do not mock me in my despera-
tion— do not lift me for a moment to Heaven only to cast me
out again ! It cannot be — it is maddest presumption of me to
hope that you love me ! "

Her hands closed only the more closely over his ; her head
drooped, her soft, abundant brown hair hiding its tremor of
bHss.

" I never hoped for this," he said ; " I never thought of this !
I knew it was my destiny — my madness — to adore you ; but
never — no, never in my wildest dream— did I dare hope you
could stoop to me. My darling — say it just once, that I may
know I am awake ! " He was very wide-awake, indeed, at
that moment. "Say just once, my own heart's darling, * Gas-
ton, I love you ! ' "

She said it, her face hidden in his superfine coat-facings, her
voice trembling, every vein in her body thrilling with rapture.

And Mr. Gaston Dantree smiled — a half-amused, a half-ex-
ultant smile of triumph.

LOVE UNDER THE LAMPS.

**I've played for high stakes before," he thought; "but
never so high as this, or with half so easy a victory. And —
oh, powers of vengeance ! — if Marie should ever find this out !
There's only one drawback now — the old man. The girl may
be a fool, but he's not. There'll be no end of a row when this
comes out."

She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up at him,
shy and sweet.

"And you really care for me like this, Gaston, and you
really thought I would let you go — ^you really thought the dif-
ference in wealth and rank between us would be any difference
to me ? How little you know me ! "

" I knew you for the best, the dearest, the loveliest of all
women. But your father, Katherine — he will never consent to
a poor artist like me coming and wooing his darling."

" You don't know him, Gaston ; papa would do anything on
earth to please me — anything. When he discovers how we
love each other, he will never stand between us. He lives but
to make me happy."

"You are sure of this, Katherine ?"

" Certain, Gaston ; your poverty will be no obstacle to
him."

" Then he's a greater fool than I take him for," thought Mr.
Dantree. " If I were in his place, I would kick Gaston Dan-
tree out of the room. Good Heavens ! if I should marry this
girl and it should get to Marie's ears ! If — I shall marry her —
come what may. Eight thousand a year at stake, and Marie
the only obstacle in the way, and hundreds of leagues of sea
and land between me and that obstacle ! There is no turning
back now ; come what may, I shall marry the heiress of Scars-
wood." He turned to her with almost real passion in his voice
now.

" Katherine," he said, taking both her hands in his and look-
ing in her eyes, " whatever betides, for good or for ill, you will
not draw back — for good or for evil you are mine ? "

She met his eyes full for the first time. She was pale, but
there was no tremor in her voice as she slowly repeated his
words. Clearly and firmly they came :

" Yours, Gaston — yours only. For good or for evil, to the
end of my life — yours ! "

For good or for evil ! — ominous words.

For good or for evil the vow was plighted ; and she stood
under the lamps pledged to become Gaston Dantree' s wife.

BEFORE BREAKFAST,

CHAPTER V.

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

N the bleak, raw dawn of the wet October morning,
Sir John Dangerfield's guests went home. While the
lamps still gleamed among the flowers on the landing
and stairways, Mrs. Vavasor, trailing the yellow glim-
mer of her silk robe behind her, went up to her own room —
went up with the fag-end of a tune between her lips, a feverish
lustre in her eyes, a feverish flush, not all rouge, on her cheeks,
looking, as a hopeless adorer at the foot of the stairs quoted :

" In her lovely silken murmur
Like an angel clad with wings."

The adorer had taken a great deal of champagne at supper
and hiccoughs interrupted the poetic flow of the quotation.

So also had Mrs. Vavasor herself Perhaps a little of the
brilliancy of eyes and color were due to the Cliquot, but then a
good deal more was owing to triumph. Everything was going
on so well. The little debt she had waited so long to pay off
was in a fair way to receive a full receipt.

Peter Dangerfield was pliant as wax in her hands. Gaston
Dantree was the man of all men whom she would have chosen
for Katherine Dangerfield's affianced husband. And Sir John
had passed the night in a sort of earthly purgatory.

" Poor old Sir John ! " the little woman said, airily, to her-
self; "Pm really concerned for him. He never did me any
harm — poor old soldier. How plainly he shows his abhorrence
of me in his face ; foolish, uncivilized old man. If his precious
daughter were not so wrapped up in her curled darling she
could not fail to see it. I suppose our handsome tenor pro-
posed in the conservatory? What a capital joke it would be
to let him marry her after all, and then speak out. I think I'll
wait until the wedding day. Ah, my lady ! my lady ! You
were a great peeress and a brilliant woman in your day, but
you're dead now, and forgotten, and Httle Harriet, whom you
circumvented so cleverly, lives still, and prospers, and hates
you dead as she hated you alive."

The fire still burned on the marble hearth, the waxlights
glimmered softly. She drew the window curtain and looked
out at the rainy morning light struggling feebly in the stormy

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

gray sky. The elms and beeches rocked in the October gale,
the swaying of the giant trees was like the dull roar of the sea.
She dropped the silken curtain with a shiver and turned away.

" It gives me the horrors," she muttered ; " it makes me
think of old age, and death, and the grave. Will I live to be-
come old, I wonder? and will I have money enough left to
pay hirelings to smooth the last journey ? This visit to Sussex
will surely make my fortune, as well as give me my revenge.
And when — all is over — I will go back to Paris — oh, my beau-
tiful Paris ! and live the rest of my life there. Whether that
life be long or short I shall at least have enjoyed every hour of
it. And, my lady, I'll be even with you to the last, and carry
my secret to the grave."

She crossed over to the wardrobe where they had placed her
trunksj opened one, and took out a book of cigarette paper
and an embroidered tobacco-case.

^'It's no use going to bed," she thought. ''I never can
sleep at these abnormal hours. A cigarette will sooth my
nerves better than slumber."

She began, with quick, deft fingers, to roll half-a-dozen
cigarettes, and then lying back in a luxurious arm-chair, with
two slender arched feet upon the fender, to light and smoke.
One after another she smoked them to the very last ash. The
rainy daylight filled the room as she flung the end of the last
inch in the fire.

She arose with a yawn, extinguished the lights, drew the
curtains and let in the full light of the gray, wet morning. The
great trees rocked wearily in the high gale, a low leaden sky
lay over the flat, wet downs, and miles away the sea melted
drearily into the horizon, In the pale bleak light brilliant little
Mrs. Vavasor looked worn, and haggard, and ten years older
than last night.

" Such a miserable morning ! What a wretch I must look
in this light. Captain Devere paid me compliments last night,
fell in love with me, I believe, at least as much in love as a
heavy dragoon ever can fall. If he saw me now ! I believe
I'll go to bed after all."

Mrs. Vavasor went to bed, and her eyes closed in graceful
slumber before her head was fairly on the pillow. And as the
loud-voiced clock over the stables chimed the quarter past ten
she came floating down the stairs in a rose- cashmere robe de
matin, and all her feathery black ringlets afloat.

Am I first, I wonder ? " she said, peeping in. " Ah, no ;

BEFORE BREAKFAST,

dear Sir John, what an early riser yon always were. You don't
forget your military habits, though you are one of the wealthiest
baronets in Sussex."

She held out one slender white hand all aglitter with rings.
But as he had refused it last night so the baronet refused the
proffered handclasp this morning. He stood tall and stern,
and grim as Rhadamanthus himself, drawn up to his full height.

" We are quite alone, Mrs. Vavasor, since you choose to

call yourself by that name, and we can afford to drop private
theatricals. I fancied you would be down before Katherine,
and I have been waiting for you here for the past hour.
Harriet Harman, you must leave Scarswood, and at once."

Sir John's guest had taken a tea-rose from a glass of flowers
on the breakfast table, and was elaborately fastening it amid
the luxuriance of her black hair. She laughed as her host
ceased speaking, and made the rose secure ere she turned
from the mirror.

" That is an improvement, I think — yellow roses always look
well in black hair. What- did you say, Sir John? Excuse my
inattention, but the toilette before everything with us Paris-
iennes. I must leave Scarswood at once ? Now, really, my
dear baronet, that is a phase of hospitality it strikes me not
strictly Arabian. Why must I go, and why at once ? "

" Why ! you ask that question ? "

" Certainly I ask it. Why am I not to remain at Scarswood
as long as I please ? "

" Because," the Indian officer said, frigidly. " You are not
fit to dwell an hour, a minute, under the same roof with — with
my daughter. If you had possessed a woman's' heart, a shadow
of heart, one spark of womanly feeling, you would never have
crossed Katherine's path."

" Again I ask why ? "

*' I have given you your answer already. You are not fit —
you are no associate for any young girl. I know the life you
led at Homburg."

" You do ? And what do you know of that life to my dis-
credit ? " Mrs. Vavasor demanded, in her sprightliest manner.
" I sadly fear some malicious person has been poisoning your
simple mind, my dear Sir John. I received a salary at Hom-
burg, I admit ; I lured a few weak-minded victims, with more
money than brains, to the Kursaal ; I gambled ever so little
perhaps myself But what would you have? Poor little
women must live, penniless widows must earn their bread and

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

butter, and I labored according to my light. Who can blame
me ? A gambler's decoy is not a very reputable profession,
but I did not select it because I liked it. As you say here in
England, it was * Hobson's choice.' To work I was not able,
to beg I was ashamed. And I gave it up, when I heard of
yom- good fortune, forever, I hope. I said to myself, ' Harriet,
child, why lead this naughty life any longer ? — why not give it
up, pack your trunks, go back to England, and become virtu-
ous and happy ? Here is your old friend — well, acquaintance,
then — Colonel Dangerfield, a baronet now, with a magnificent
estate in Sussex, and eight thousand a year. You did him good
service once — he is not the man to forget past favors ; he
will never see you hungry or cold any more. And la petite
is there — the little Katherine, whom fifteen years ago you were
so fond of — a young lady, and a great heiress now. To see
her once more, grown from a lovely English Miss — what rapt-
ure ! "

She clasped her little hands with a very foreign gesture, and
lifted two great imploring eyes to his face. The baronet
sighed heavily.

" Heaven help you, Harriet ! You might have been a better
woman if you had loved the child, or anything else. But you
never loved any human creature in this world but yourself, and
never will. I suppose it is not in your nature."

Have you ever seen the swift pallor of sudden strong
emotion show under rouge and pearl powder ? It is not a
pleasant sight. After the baronet's last words there was a dead
pause, and in the dull, chill light he saw that ghastly change
come over her.

" Never loved any human creature in this world ! " She
repeated his words slowly after him, then broke suddenly into
a shrill laugh. Sir John Dangerfield, after half a century of
this life's vicissitudes, the power to be astonished at anything
earthly should have left all men and women, but you are sixty
odd, are you not ? and if I chose I could give you a glimpse
of my ]3ast life that would rather take you by surprise. But I
don't choose — at least not at present. Think' me heartless,
unprincipled, without conscience or womanly feeling — what
you will — what does anything in this lower world signify except
costly dresses, good wines, and comfortable incomes? And
that brings mc back to the point, and I tell you coolly and de-
liberately, and determinedly, that I won't stir one step from
Scarswood Park until I see fit."

BEFORE BREAKFAST,

She folded her hands one over the other, and looked up in
his set, stern face, with an aggravating smile on her own.

" It is of no use your blustering and threatening ; if you
should feel inclined that way, my dear baronet, it will do no
good. I won't go. But you are too much a soldier and a
gentleman to even try to bully a poor little woman like me. I
have an object in view in coming to Scarswoodj when that
object is attained, I shall leave— not one instant before."

"And your object is — ? "

" A secret at present. Sir John. As for your daughter," —
with sneering emphasis — " / should be the best judge, I think,
as to whether or no I am a fit associate for her. Miss Danger-
field appears to be a young lady in every way qualified to take
care of herself And now, dear Sir John, as we thoroughly
understand each other, suppose we take breakfast. It is past
ten, and I am hungry."

" I never breakfast without Katherine," the baronet answered,
coldly. "Mrs. Harman I " — abruptly — "they say every man
has his price — will you name yours, and leave Scarswood
forever ? "

" Now what an indelicate way of putting it — my price ! "
She laughed. "Well, yes. Sir John, I don't mind owning as
much. I have a price. Do you know what I said to myself
last night when I first entered Scarswood? I said ' I wonder
if Sir John vv'ould marry me if I asked him ? ' And Sir John, I
wonder if you would ? "

"Mrs. Harman," the Indian officer answered, with a look
of disgust and contempt, "let us keep to the subject in
hand, if you please. I am in no humor for witticisms this
morning."

" Which, translated, means, I suppose, you would not marry
me. It's not leap-year, I am aware, and my proposal may be
a little out of place. But just think a moment. Sir John —
what if the telling of your secret depended on it, and I should
really like to be my lady ? — what then ? "

" Mrs. Harman, if you say another word of this kind I v/ill
turn you out of the house. Am I to understand, then, it is to
tell you have come hither ? "

His voice broke a little, the strong, sinewy hand that lay
upon the broad window-sill, clenched. He bore himself
bravely before her, but there was mortal fear and mortal
anguish in the old soldier's blue eyes.

" For God's sake tell me the trutl ! " he said. " What have

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

you come to do ? I saw you in the conservatory last night
alone with my nephew — do you mean to tell him ? "

There was an easy-chair close to the window ; the widow
sank down in its silken cushions — all this time they had been
standing — and she flung back her little, dainty, ringleted head.

"As this conversation will be prolonged, no doubt, until
Miss Dangerfield appears, we may as well take a seat. So you
saw me in the conservatory la,st night with your nephew ! I
did not know you did me the honor to watch me, Sir John.
Well, yes, I was in the conservatory last night with Mr. Peter
Dangerfield."

"And you told him all ?"

" I told him — nothing ! My dear old baronet, what an im-
becile you must think me. Why should I tell him ? — a poor
little pettifogging attorney. I only drew him out there — read
him, you know — and he is very large print, indeed. Woe to
the man or woman that stands in his path to fortune ! — better
for them they had never been born. He never felt a touch of
pity or mercy in his life for any living thing, and never will."

" I know it ! " the baronet said with a groan. " I know it too
well. My life has been a life of terror since this inheritance
fell to me — fearing him, fearing you. If he had been any other
kind of a man than the kind he is, I — think — I know I would
have braved all consequences and told him the truth, and
thrown myself upon his generosity. My life has been one pro-
longed misery since we came to Scarswood. I knew if you
were alive, you would hunt me down as you have. It would
be better for me I were a beggar on the streets."

Mrs. Vavasor listened to this passionate tirade with airiest
indifference.

"Then go and be a beggar on the streets," she responded;
" nothing is easier. Throw yourself upon your nephew's
generosity — tell him that little episode in both our lives that
happened in the Paris hospital fifteen years ago — tell him, and
see how generous, how magnanimous he can be. You saw me
talking to him, you say, in the conservatory last night. Would
you like to know what we were talking about? Well — of
Katherine ! "

He stood and looked down at the small mocking face, and
the derisive black eyes, gnawing the ends of his gray mustache.

" Of Katherine," Mrs. Vavasor said. " He told me he re-
membered her an infant here — in this very house, that she was
two years old when she left England with papa and mamma.

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

I asked him if he recalled her looks fifteen years ago, but
naturally he did not."

Mrs. Vavasor laughed at some inward joke.

" Do you know, Sir John, he is in love with the heiress of
Scarswood, and would marry her if she would let him ? He
proposed last night — "

What ! " the baronet cried eagerly ; " he asked Katherine
to marry him ? And she — what did she say ? "

" Called him a rickety dwarf — truthful, but unpleasant — and
said no as your high-spirited daughter knows how to say it.
He's not handsome, and Miss Dangerfield dearly loves beauty.
She resembles her mother in many things — in that among the
rest. She refused Mr. Dangerfield last night — still I think, my
dear baronet, I shall have the pleasure of congratulating you
upon the accession of a son-in-law."

" What do you mean ? "

" Excuse me ; our haughty little Katherine might not thank
me for meddling with her affaires du cceur. And I wish so much
to stand well with the dear child. So affectionate a daughter
can have no secrets from you — she will tell you all about it her-
self, no doubt, before the day ends. And, Sir John, I can safely
promise you this much — I shall leave Scarswood before your
daughter's wedding day, to return no more."

He looked at her in painful, anxious silence. He felt that
behind her words a covert threat lay.

" Before her wedding day. The child is but seventeen and
not likely to marry for four or five years yet. I don't knov/
what you mean, Harriet. For pity sake speak plainly — let us
understand each other if we can. I don't want to be hard upon
you. Heaven knows. I would pour out money like water to
secure my darling's happiness — and you — oh surely! of all the
creatures on earth, yoii should be the last to harm her. Don t
betray me — don't betray her — don't ruin her life. I know I
ought to tell ; honor, truth, with all the instincts of my life,
urge me to speak, but I know so well what the result would be,
and I dare not ! " A stifled sob shook the old soldier's voice.
" I love her better than ever father loved a child before — bet-
ter I think than ever, if that were possible, since this new dan-
ger threatened. If you keep silence there is nothing to fear.
In Heaven's name, Harriet, mention any sum you like, however
exorbitant, and leave this house at once and forever."

She sat and listened, without one touch of pity for the love
she could not fathom ; she sat and watched him without one

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

softening glance of the hard eyes. There was an unpleasant
tightness about the thin lips, an almost diabolical malice in her
furtive gaze.

" I will take ten thousand pounds, and I will leave Scars-
wood a week preceding Miss Dangerfield's wedding day. The
sooner that day is named the better. That is my zdtimatum."

"A week before her wedding day ! Why do you harp on
that ? I tell you she has no idea of being married-for years —
a child of seventeen ! "

" And I tell you she has. Children of seventeen in this year
of grace have very grown-up notions. Miss Dangerfield had
two proposals of marriage last night ; one she refused, one she
accepted. If you have patience, your future son-in-law will be
here for his answer before dinner. As Katherine will be on his
side, your answer will be, * Yes,' of course, though he were the
veriest blackguard in England. If that tall slip of a girl told
you to swear black was white, you would swear it, and half be-
lieve you were not perjuring yourself. You are too old to learn
wisdom now, my poor Sir John ; but if you were a younger
man, I would try and convince you of the folly of loving, with
such blind, dog-like devotion, any creature on this earth. No
one alive is worthy of it — least of all a woman. You would
die to make her happy ; more, the soul of honor, by training
and instinct, you are yet ready to commit dishonor for her
sake. And she — if you stand between her and this good-look-
adventurer, only seen for the first time a few weeks ago, she
will set you down for a very tyrant and monster, and run away
to Scotland with him the instant he asks her. Oh, yes' she will !
I'm a woman, and I know my sex. They're like cats — stroke
them the right way and they'll purr forever ; stroke them the
wrong way, and their sharp claws are into your flesh, though
yours the hand that has fed and caressed them all their life.
Katherine is no worse than the rest, and when she leaves you
and runs away with him, she is only true to her feline nature.
I will take ten thousand pounds, cash down, one week before
the day fixed for Kathie's wedding, and I'll leave Scarswood,
and you, and her, forever— with the secret untold. The sooner
that wedding day is fixed, the sooner you are rid of me. And
I'll never come back — I'll never ask you for another stiver.
Now we understand each other, and we'll get along comfortably,
I hope. Don't let us talk any more on this subject, it isn't a
pleasant one ; and. Sir John, do, do try and look a little less
like a martyr on the rack ! Don't wear your heart on your

BEFORE BREAKFAST.

sleeve, for the daws of society to peck at. You know that tire-
some story of the Spartan boy and the fox, or wolf — which was
it ? The animal gnawed at his vitals, but he kept his cloak well
over it and bore the agony with a smiling face. I think the
horrible little brute lays hold of all mankind, sooner or later ;
only some suffer and make no sign, and others go through the
world howling aloud over the pain, /have hid my wolf for the
last nineteen years— you would not think it, would you?
Don't let everybody see you have a secret, in your face, or
they may find it out for themselves, if you do. Here comes
our little truant at last : and Dieu merci, for I am absolutely
famished ! "

Clearing the last three steps with a jump, according to cus-
tom, all fluttering in crisp white musHn, and lit up with bright
ribbons, Katherine came into the room, her happy face sun-
shiny enough to illuminate all Sussex.

''Late again, papa," throwing her arms round him after her
impetuous fashion and giving him a sounding kiss; ''but last
night was an exceptional occasion in one's life; one was priv-
ileged to oversleep one's self this morning. Oh, papa ! " with
a little fluttering sigh, " what a perfectly delicious party it was ! "

" My dear," her father said, in a constrained sort of voice,
" don't you see Mrs. Vavasor ? "

She had not until that moment. In her own happiness she
had forgotten the very existence of her father's guest. Her
face clouded ever so slightly now as she turned to meet the
little woman's gushing greeting.

" Dearest Katherine — oh, I really must call you Katherine
— how well, how bright you are looking this morning. Look
at that radiant face, Sir John, and tell me would you think this
child had danced twenty-four consecutive times last night ? /
counted, my pet," with her tinkling laugh — " danced until broad
day this morning. Ah how delightful to be sweet seventeen
and able to look like this after a long night's steady v/altzing."

She would have kissed her, but Katherine' s crystal clear eyes
detected the rouge on her lips, and Katherine, who never re-
sisted an impulse in her whole life, shrank back palpably.

" What ! " Mrs. Vavasor exclaimed gayly ; " you won't kiss me,
you proud little English girl ? Never mind, I foresee we shall
be great friends — don't you think so, Sir John? if only for her
mother's sake."

"My mother's sake!" Katherine repeated. "You knew
my mother ? "

56 ASKING IN MARRIAGE,

^ Very well, indeed, my dear — I was her most intimate
friend. And you are like her — like her every way — in face, in
manner, in voice. I should have been fond of you in any case,
but since you resemble your mother so strongly, think how I
must love you now ! "

CHAPTER VL

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

RS. VAVASOR might be never so vivacious, but it
was a very silent, not to say gloomy, meal. Sir John
sat moodily, eating little, and watching his daughter
with strange new interest in his eyes. His perplexi-
ties seemed thickening around him. It was surely bad enough to
have this obnoxious visitor on his hands, without an objection-
able son-in-law flung in his face willy-nilly also. Who could
the man be ? He had not, if you will believe it, the remotest
idea. He had been so completely absorbed by his espionage
over the little widow all night that he had scarcely once re-
marked his daughter. Who can the man be ? He thought
over the list of his unmarried masculine guests and lit upon Cap-
tain De Vere, of the Plungers, as the man.

" And if it l)e he," the baronet thought with an inward groan,
" there is nothing for it but to make a clean breast of it before
the wedding. And how will it be then ? He is a very heavy
swell, De Vere, and will one day write his name high in the
peerage. He may be in love with Katherine now — how will it
be when he knows the truth ? Heaven help me ! was ever
man so badgered as I am ? "

Katherine was very silent, too ; even her hearty girl's morn-
ing appetite seemed to have failed her. She trifled with what
lay on her plate, a tender half-smile on her hps and in her eyes.
Love had taken away appetite. How handsome he had
looked ! the mellow lamp-light of the conservatory streaming
across his dark, southern beauty. How nobly he had spoken !
And he had feared refusal — this darling of the gods ! He had
thought himself unworthy the heiress of Scarswood — he who
was worthy the heiress of a throne I

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

I am glad I am an heiress for his sake," she thought : I
only wish my thousands were millions ! Oh, Gaston ! to think
that your poverty would be any obstacle to me. I am glad you
are poor — yes, glad, that I may give you all ; that I may be in
every way the good angel of your life !"

Mrs. Vavasor, chattering cheerily on all imaginable subjects,
asked her a question. It had to be repeated ere it reached her
ear, dulled by her blissful trance. She lifted her dreamy eyes.

" What did you say, madame ?"

Mrs. Vavasor's rather shrill laugh chimed forth.

" What did I say, madame ! and I have asked her three times.
No, my dear, I'll not repeat my question as to whether you'll
drive me to Castleford if it clears up, as I see it is going to do,
being quite certain you will have other and pleasanter com-
pany. Look at that abstracted face, Sir John, and tell me
what you think."

The baronet's answer was a sort of growl, as he rose abruptly
from the table.

" I am going to my study, Katherine, and I want to speak to
you — will you come ? "

" Speak to me, papa ? " Katherine repeated, faintly, her color
coming and going nervously for the first time in her life.

"Yes." He offered her his arm, looking grimmer than
she had ever seen him in all her experience. " Mrs. Vavasor
will find some other means of amusing herself besides that drive
to Castleford. My carriage and coachman are at her service
if she really desires it."

" Very well, papa," Miss Dangerfield responded, with a meek-
ness very different from her usual manner of frank impertinence
which sat so well upon her. " Could he know ? " she was think-
ing in some trepidation. " Can he know so soon ? Did he see
us last night in the conservatory together ? and, oh ! what will
he say?"

Mrs. Vavasor watched the stalwart, soldierly figure, and the
sHght girlish form on his arm from sight, with a hard, cold glit-
ter in her black eyes.

" Your coachman is at my service, Sir John, but your daugh-
ter is not. And her Royal Highness, the Princess of Scars-
wood, would not let me kiss her this morning ! Like her mother
again, very much like her mother indeed. And I have a good
memory for all slights, little and great."

Sir John's study was a cosey room, on the same floor with the
breakfast parlor, and commanding a view of the entrance ave-
3*

ASKim; IN MARRIAGE,

nue with its arching elms. He placed a chair for his daughter,
still in grim silence, and Katherine sank into it in a little flut-
ter of apprehension. Fear was a weakness that perhaps had
never troubled the girl in her life. Whatever the blood in her
veins, it was at least thoroughly brave. And, womanlike, it was
more for her lover than herself she trembled now.

"Papa won't like it," she thought. " Gaston's poverty will
be a drawback to him. He will forget he was poor himself
only half a year ago, and refuse his consent. ISTo, he won't do
that ; he would consent to anything, I think, sooner than see
me miserable."

" Katherine," her father began, abruptly, " Peter Dangerfield
proposed last night."

Katherine looked up with a start. Nothing was further from
her thoughts at that moment than her cousin Peter — she had
entirely forgotten him and their quarrel of last night. " Peter ?
Oh, yes, papa, I forgot all about it."

" Humph ! highly complimentary to Peter. I need hardly
ask if you refused him. Miss Dangerfield?"

" Certainly I refused him ! " Miss Dangerfield retorted, her
spirits rising, now she had found her tongue, " and his declara-
tion ended in no end of a row." The heiress of Scarswood
was a trifle slangy at times. " I lost my temper — that's the
truth — at one thing he said, and spoke to him as I had no busi-
ness to. I'm sorry now, and I apologized, but I know he'll
never forget or forgive the affront. He's one of your nice, quiet,
inoffensive people who go to church three times every Sunday,
and who never do forgive anything."

''What did you say ?"

Papa's voice was terribly stern — for him. Miss Dangerfield
hung her head in deserved contrition.

" Papa ! you know what an abominable temper I've got, and
still more abominable tongue — I called him a rickety dwarf."
Katherine .r'

"I'm sorry, papa," Katherine repeated a little sullenly, and
not looking up. "I apologized; it is all I can do; it's said,
and can't be recalled ! Scolding will do no good now."

There was silence for a moment. A pallor that even her
wicked words seemed too trifling to call there overspread his
face.

" A bad business ! " he muttered. " Peter Dangerfield will
never forget or forgive your insult as long as he lives. Heaven
help you now, child, if you are ever in his power."

ASKING IN MARRIAGE,

" In his power ! in Peter's !" Katherine said, lifting her head
haughtily. What nonsense, papa ! of course I shall never be
in his power. And he provoked me into saying it, if it comes
to that ! What business had he to speak as he did, to in-
sult— " Miss Dangerfield pulled herself up with a jerk, and
looked up.

"Insult whom, my daughter?"

" Never mind, papa — a friend of mine."

"And a rival of his. Was it Captain De Vere, Kathie?"

" Captain De Vere ! Oh dear, no, papa ! Captain De Vere
can fight his own battles — he's big enough and old enough.
He has nothing to do with me."

" Then somebody else has. You are keeping something
from me, and that is not like you, Kathie. You had .another
proposal last night."

Katherine looked at her father in sheer amaze.

" Why, papa, you must be a wizard — how do you find these
things out ? Did — did you see me in the conservatory ? "

" / did not — I did not deem it was necessary to place Kath-
erine Dangerfield under surveillance at her first party."

" Papa ! "

" Oh, child ! You compel me to say cruel things. The
world will watch you if I do not, and report all shortcomings."

"The world may," Katherine said, proudly- " I have done
nothing wrong — I know who has told you — you would never
play the spy; it was that odious woman in the breakfast room.
Who is she, papa, and what does she do here, and how long is
she going to stay ? I don't know anything about her, but I
hate her already. Who is she ? "

" She is Mrs. Vavasor. Never mind her at present, my dear
— you are the subject under discussion. We have not come to
this other lover yet — let us come to him at once. Two lovers !
and yesterday I thought you a child. Well, well ! it is the way
of the world — the female portion of it at least. Katherine, who
is the man? "

She looked up — grew very pale — met her father's stern, sor-
rowful eyes, and looked down.

" It is — papa, papa ! don't be angry. He can't help being
poor — and I — I like him — so," with little gasps. " Oh, papa,
please ! You never were cruel to your little Kathie in all your
life — please doiit begin now ! "

He stood very still, listening to this outburst with a face that
grew every moment graver.

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

" And it needs such a preface as this ! You have to plead
for him before even you tell his name. Who is he, Kathie ? "

She got up, flung her arms round him, and hid her face on
his shoulder.

" It is — papa, p-p-please don't be angry. It is Gaston Dan-
tree ! "

The murder was out ! Of all the men he had thought of, he
had never once thought of him. Gaston Dantree ! An utter
stranger — a singer of songs — his voice giving him the entree
into houses where else he had never set his foot. A schemer
probably — an adventurer certainly — a foreigner also — and Sir
John Dangerfield had all your true-born Briton's hearty detes-
tation of foreigners.

Kathie," he could just exclaim ; " that man ! "

"I love him, papa!" she whispered, between an impulsive
shower of coaxing kisses ; " and oh, please don't call him that
man ! He may be poor ; but he is so good, so noble — dearer,
better every way than any man I ever knew. If you had only
heard him talk last night, papa ! " .

" Talk ! Yes, I dare say." The baronet laughed — a dreary-
sounding laugh enough. " It is his stock in trade — that silvery
tenor of his ; and all adventurers possess the gift of gab. It is
the rubbish that keeps them afloat."

An adventurer, papa ! You have no right to call him that.
You don't know him — you should not judge him. He may be
poor ; but poverty is his only disgrace. He does not deserve
that opprobrious name ! "

" It would be difficult, indeed, to say what name Mr. Gaston
Dantree does not deserve. A penniless stranger who could
deliberately set himself to work to steal the affections of a child
like you — for your fortune alone ! That will do, Katherine : I
know what I am talking about — I have met men like Mr. Gas-
ton Dantree before. And I have no right to judge him — this
thief who comes to steal away my treasure ! Child — child !
you have disappointed me — you have disappointed me more
than I can say."

He sighed bitterly, and covered his eyes with his hand ;
Katherine' s arm tightened imploringly round his neck.

" But not angered you, papa, not giieved you ; don't say I
have done that ! " She cried faintly, hiding her face. " Dear-
est, best father that ever was in this world, don't say you are
angry with Katherine — for the first, the only time ! "

" Heaven knows, my dear, I could not be angry with you if

ASKING IN MARRIAGE,

I tried. Lift up your head, Kathie, and give me a kiss. Don't
cry for your new toy, my child ; you shall have it, as you have
had all the rest. Only whatever happens in the future, don't
blame me. Remember that I have nothing but your happiness
at heart."

Her impetuous kisses, her happy tears thanked him. Since
her childhood he had not seen her weep before, and the sight
moved him strangely.

" And when am I to see him, Katherine ? " he asked ; when
is this unknown hero, without money in his purse, coming to
claim the heiress of Scarswood? It requires some courage,
doubtless, to face the * heavy father ; ' but I suppose he does
intend to come. And I think your Mr. Dantree has courage
— no, that's not the word — cheek enough for anything."

" He will be here to-day," she whispered, lifting her head ;
and papa, for my sake don't be hard on him — don't hurt his
feelings, don't insult him for his poverty ! "

He put her from him, and walked away with a gesture al-
most of anger.

" His poverty ! as if I cared for if/iaf ! The baronets of Scars-
wood have been poor men, often enough ; but they were always
gentlemen. I don't think your handsome lover with the tenor
voice can say as much. But, whatever he is — blackleg, advent-
urer, fortune-hunter — I am to take him, it seems, to give him
my daughter, and heiress, as soon as it pleases his sultanship to
claim her. If not, you'll become a heroine, won't you, Kathie,
and run away to Gretna Green with him ? Katherine, if by
some freak of fortune Scarswood and its long rent-roll passed
from you to-morrow, and you stood before him penniless as he
is, hov/ long do you think he would prove true to all the love-
vows of last night — in the conservatory, was it?"

For all the years of his life, papa," the girl cried, her large
eyes flashing. " You don't know him — you judge him cruelly
and unkindly. He loves me for myself — as I do him. Papa,
I never knew you to be so unkind before in all my life."

**That will do, Kathie — I have promised to accept him when
he comes — let that suffice. I confess I should have liked a
gentleman born and bred for a son-in-law, but that weakness
will no doubt wear away with time. Ah, I see — ' lo ! the con-
quering hero comes ! ' Will you dare trust him to my tender
mercies, my dear, or do you wish to remain and do battle for
your knight ? "

For Mr. Gaston Dantree was riding slowly up the avenue.

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

The sun which all morning had been struggling with the clouds
burst out at the moment, and Mr. Dantree approached
through the sunburst as through a glory. The girl's eyes lit,
her whole face kindled with the radiance of love at seventeen.
And this son of the gods was hers. She turned in her swift,
impulsive fashion, and flung her arms round her father's neck
once more.

" Don't be unkind, papa, for my sake. It would kill me if
I lost him — just that."

" Kill you," he laughed, cynically. " Men have died, and
worms have eaten them, but not for love. There, go — I may
be an ogre, but I'll promise not to devour Mr. Dantree this
morning, if I can help it."

He led her to the door, held it open for her to pass out.
She gave him one last imploring glance.

" For my sake, papa," she repeated, and fled.

He closed the door and went back to his seat beside the
window. The last trace of softness died out of his face, he
sighed heavily, and in the garish sunshine his florid face looked
haggard and worn.

" If I only had courage to face the worst," he thought — " if
I only had courage to tell the truth. But I am a coward, and I
cannot. The revelation would kill her — to lose lover, fortune,
all at one blow. If it must fall, mine will never be the hand to
strike, and yet it might be greatest mercy after all."

The door was flung wide.

''Mr. Dantree," announced the footman.

Sir John arose with a stern ceremoniousness that might have
abashed most men. But it did not abash Katherine's lover.
In the whole course of his checkered career no man had ever
seen Mr. Dantree put out of countenance. He came forward,
hat in hand, that handsome mask, his face, wearing a polite
smile.

" Good-morning, Sir John — I hope I see you well after last
night's late hours. It was a most delightful reunion. And
Miss Katherine, I trust, is well also after the fatigue of so much
dancing ? "

" My daughter is well ! " — very stiff and frigid, this response.
" Will you take a seat, Mr. Dantree, and tell me to what I owe
the honor of this visit ? "

He paused. The tone, the look, were enough to chill the
ardor of the warmest lover. Mr. Dantree took them, and the
chair, as matters of course. He laid his hat on the floor,

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

drew off his gloves, ran his fingers through his glossy black
curls, and met Sir John's irate gaze with unflinching good
humor.

" I come to you. Sir John, on a matter of supreme im-
portance. As you appear in haste, I will not detain you long
— I will come to the point at once. Last night I had the
honor of proposing for your daughter's hand, and the happiness
of being accepted."

This was coming to the point at once with a vengeance.
Sir John sat gazing at him blankly. The stupendous magnifi-
cence of his cheekiness completely took his breath away.

" It may be presumptuous on my part," Mr. Dantree
coolly went on ; ''but our afi"ections are not under our control.
Love knows no distinction of rank. I love your daughter,
Sir John, and have the great happiness of knowing my love is
returned."

Sir John Dangerfield actually burst out laughing. Some-
where in the old mustache there lay a lurking vein of humor,
and Mr. Dantree'5 perfect sang-froid and pat little speech
tickled it ; and the laugh took Mr. Dantree more aback than
any words in the Enghsh language.

" Sir ! " he began, reddening.

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Dantree — I certainly had no inten-
tion of laughing, and I certainly suppose you don't see any-
thing to laugh at. It was that pretty speech of yours — how
glibly you say your lesson! Long practice, now, I suppose
has made you perfect."

" Sir John Dangerfield — if you mean to insult me — "
"Keep quiet, Mr. Dantree — you're not in a passion,
though you feign one very well. You may be an actor by
profession, for what I know, but I'd rather we dropped
melodrama and kept to humdrum common-sense. Reserve
all you flowery periods about love overleaping the barriers
of rank— Katherine is not listening. Am I to understand you
are here to demand my daughter's hand in marriage ? "

Mr. Dantree bowed.

" You are to understand that, Sir John. I possess Miss
Dangerfield' s heart. I have come here this morning, with her
consent, to ask you for her hand."

" And my daughter has known you — three, or four weeks —
which is it? And you are good enough to acknowledge it
may be a Httle presumptuous ! Mr. Dantree, what are you ?
Katherine is seventeen, and in love with you ; I am sixty-five.

ASKING IN MARRIAGE.

and not in love ; you possess a handsome face and a very fine
voice — may I ask what additional virtues and claims you can
put forth for my favor ? Dark eyes and melodious tenors are
very good and pleasant things in their way, but I am an un-
romantic old soldier, and I should like you to show some more
substantial reasons why I am to give you my daughter for life."

"If by substantial reasons you mean fame or fortune, Sir
John, I possess neither. I own it — I am poor. I am a
journalist. By my pen I earn my bread, and I have yet to
learn there is any disgrace in honest poverty."

"There are many things you have yet to learn, I think, Mr.
Dantree, but easy assurance and self-conceit are not among
them. You are poor, no doubt — of the honesty of that poverty
I have no means of judging. At present I have but your
word for it. Would you like to know what I think of you, Mr.
Dantree — in plain language ?"

" If you please. Sir John, and it will be plain, I have no
doubt."

"Then, sir, you are, I believe, simply and solely an advent-
urer— a fortune-hunter. Be good enough to hear me out. I
am not likely to repeat this conversation for some time, and it
is much better we should understand each other at once.
There is but one thing I would rather not see my daughter
than your wife, and that is — dead ! "

" Thank you. Sir John — you are almost more complimentary
than I had hoped. I am to understand, then," he said this
with perfect coolness, " that you refuse your consent. In that
case I have only to bid you good-day and go."

Sir John glanced at him in impotent rising wrath. What it
cost him to preserve even a show of self-control the fiery old
soldier alone knew.

"You do well," he cried, his blue eyes afire, "to taunt me
with my impotence. If I were a wiser man and a less
indulgent father, by heavens ! you should go, and that quickly !
But I have never refused Katherine anything yet, and I am
not going to begin now. She has set her foolish, child's heart
on you, sir, with your cursed womanish beauty and Italian
song-singing, and she shall not be thwarted — by me. She shall
marry you if she wishes it — she shall never say /came between
her and the dearest desire of her heart. Take her, Gaston
Dantree," he arose, " and may an old man's curse blight you
if ever you make her repent it ! "

Perhaps somewhere in his hard anatomy Gaston Dantree

THE SECOND WARNING.

had an organ that did duty as a heart, it smote him now. He
held out his hand to the passionate old soldier.

" So help me Heaven ! she never shall. As I deal by her
may I be dealt with ! "

He spoke the words that sealed his condemnation. In the
troubled after-days, it was only the retribution he invoked
then that fell.

CHAPTER VII.

THE SECOND WARNING.

EFORE the expiration of a week, it was known to all
Castleford — to all the county families of the neigbor-
hood — that Miss Katherine Dangerfield, of Scarswood
Park, was engaged to Mr. Gaston Dantree, of — nobody
knew where.

Had any other baronet's daughter so far stooped to disgrace
their code and their order, the county families would have stood
paralyzed at the desecration. Being Miss Dangerfield, nobody
even wondered. It was only of a piece with all the rest. What
could you expect of a young person — the term of lady would
have been a misnomer — of a young person with some of the
best blood in Sussex in her veins, who persisted in scampering
over the downs and the coast for miles without a groom ! —
who treated her venerable father as though he were a child
of twelve, who wore her hair streaming down her back at the
mature age of seventeen, who called every Goody and Gaffer
in the parish by their christian name, who was quite capa-
ble of speaking to anybody without an introduction, who knew
every game that could be played on the cards, and who talked
slang ? What could you expect of a demoralized young woman
like this ? The Dangerfield lineage was unexceptionable —
there must be a cross somewhere, a bar sinister on the mother's
side ; it was a wild impossibility the old blood could degenerate
in this way,

Who was Mr. Gaston Dantree ? The county families asked
this question with intense curiosity now, and found the answer
all too meagre. Mr. Dantree himself responded to it with that

THE SECOND WARNING.

perfei t, high-bred self-possession which characterized him ; and
everybody had to take his own account, or go look for proof.

" I am an American — a Southerner, as you know," Mr. Dan tree
had said ; " my native State is Louisiana. I am that famous
historical personage, ' the son of poor but honest parents,'
now and for many years dead. By profession I am a journaUst ;

I am connected with the New Orleans P . An unexpected

windfall, in the way of a small legacy, enabled me, six months
ago, to realize a long-cherished dream of mine and visit England.
My leave of absence expires in two months, when I must
either return to New Orleans or — "

Here Mr. Dantree was wont to break off if Miss Dangerfield
were present, with a profound sigh and a glance that spoke
lexicons.

Squire Talbot, of Morecambe, with whom Mr. Dantree had
come down to London, and with whom he was still staying,
when brought upon the stand in turn and cross-examined, could
throw very little more light on his guest's antecedents.

" Deuced sorry, now. Sir John, I ever did bring the fellow
down," young Mr. Talbot said, the first time he met the bar-
onet, pulling his tawny mustache with gloomy ferocity ; "but
how the deuce could I tell Miss Dangerfield would go and — no,
I mean Dantree, be hanged to him ! — would go and make love
to Miss Dangerfield ? I put it to yourself — now could I, Sir
John ? I'm deuced sorry, and all that, but I don't know a blessed
thing about him except that 'he's a jolly good fellow,' as the song
says, tells a capital storj/, sings like an American Sims Reeves,
and can punish more champagne of a night and rise none the
worse for it next day than any other fellow " — Squire Talbot
pronounced it feller" — " I ever knew. I met him first at a
dinner at the Guards' Club, then at a Sunday breakfast at
Lord Leaham's — invited to both these places, you understand,
to sing. He knew lots of newspaper men — wrote flimsies
himself for the sporting journals, and when I asked him — con-
found it ! — to run down with me to my place in Sussex, he
' '^nsented at once. And I am deuced sorry. Sir John," reiter-
ated Squire Talbot, going over the same ground again ; and
I hope, whatever happens, you know, you'll not blame me."

" I blame nobody," the old baronet answered, wearily ; " these
things are to be, 1 suppose. I shall write to New Orleans and
make inquiries concerning the young man ; I can do no more.
Katherine is infatuated — pray Heaven her eyes may not be
opened in my day I "

THE SECOND WARNING.

Mrs. Vavasor was perhaps the only one who heard with un-
alloyed satisfaction of Katherine's sudden engagement.

*'What did I tell you, Sir John?" she said, triumphantly.
"What do you think of my powers of divination now? It's
rather a mesalliance, isn't it? — for her father's daughter, rather
a mad affair altogether. But, dear child — she is so impulsive,
and so self-reliant, and so hopelessly obsti — no, that's not a
pleasant word — so resolute and firm, let us say, that remon-
strance is quite thrown away upon her. Let us pity her, Sir
John, rather than blame ; she comes by all those admirable
traits of character honestly enough — inherited from her mother.
And when is the wedding to take place ? "

She threw her head back against the purple-velvet cushions
of her chair, and looked at the moody baronet with maliciously
sparkling black eyes.

I don't ask merely from idle curiosity," Mrs. Vavasor went
on, as the badgered baronet's ansv/er was a sort of groan ; " I
inquire because the knowledge influences my own movements.
One week before the day fixed for the wedding, I receive from
you, my kind benefactor, that check for ten thousand pounds —
a very respectable haul, by the way — and I shake the dust of
Scarswood off my feet forever. My reception by both host and
hostess was, I must say, of the least cordial, and I am made to
feel every hour that I am a most unwelcome interloper. Still,
I bear no malice, and not having any of your sang-azure in
my veins, my sensitive feelings are not wounded. Perhaps a
dozen years spent at Baden and Homburg does blunt the finer
edge of one's nerves. I trust the wedding day will not come
round too speedily — I really like my quarters here. My room
commands a sunny southern prospect, your wines are unexcep-
tionable, and your cook for an English cook, a treasure. Don't
fix the happy day too near, Sir John. Dearest Katherine is so
impetuous that she would be married next week, I dare say,
if she could."

"I wish to Heaven it were next week, so that I might be
rid of you ! " Sir John broke out. " You bring misfortune with
you wherever you go ! Mrs. Harman, you shall leave this
house ! You sit here with that mocking smile on your face,
exulting in your power until it drives me half mad to look at
you. Take the enormous bribe you demand — I have no right
to give it you, I know — and go at once. What object can you
gain by remaining here ? "

Now, that is an unkind question. What do I gain ? The

THE SECOND WARNING.

pleasure of your society, and that of Miss Dangerfield, to be
sure ; the pleasure of being hand and glove with the gentry of
this neighborhood, who, like yourself, rather give me the cold
shoulder, by the way. I wonder how it is ? — none of them
ever saw me at Homburg that I know of. I suppose the brand
of adventuress is stamped on my face. No, Sir John ; not
one hour, not one second sooner than I say. shall I quit Scars-
wood Park. If the wedding is fixed for next week, then I leave
this; if for this day ten years, then I remain that long. I
dare say I should find life slow, and the character of a respect-
able British matron of the upper classes a dismal life ; but still,
I would do it."

He stopped in his walk and looked at her. The bold eyes
met his unflinchingly.
"Well, Sir John?"

" Harriet Harman, you have some sinister design in all this.
What have you to do with Katherine's wedding day ? What
has the child done to you that you should hate her ? What
have I ever done that you should torment me thus ? Is it that
at the last hour you mean to break your promise and tell ?
Great Heaven ! Harriet, is that what you mean ? "

Her steady color faded for a moment ; her own, with all her
boldness, shifted away from the gaze of the old man's horror-
struck eyes.

'*What I mean is my own affair," she said, sullenly; "and
I do hate Katherine for her mother's sake, and her own. You
needn't ask me any questions about it. I mean to tell you all
one day — but not this. I want money, Sir John, and that
promised check, of course, my poor little purse replenished.
See how empty it is ! — and all my worldly wealth is here."

She laughed as she held it up, all her old audacious manner
back. Two or three shillings jingled in the meshes as she held
it out.

" I want to replenish my wardrobe ; I want to pay some
bills ; I want — oh ! millions of things ! Fill me out a check like
the princely old soldier you are, and I shall get through the
day shopping in Castleford ; I will amuse myself spending
money, while Katherine amuses herself listening to Mr. Dan-
tree's fluent love-making. He's rather a clever little fellow,
that son-in-law-elect of yours, my dear baronet, and I don't
think he has given us his whole autobiography quite as it is
known in New Orleans. I don't say there was anything par-
ticularly clever in his wooing the heiress of Scarswood, because

THE SECOND WARNING.

any well-looking young man, with a ready tongue and an ele-
gant address, could have done that^ and my own impression is
that Miss Dangerfield, like Desdemona, met him more than
half way. I'm ready to wager the nuptials will be consum-
mated within the next three months. Now, that check, dear
Sir John — and do be liberal ! "

She rose up, and Sir John, with the look of a hunted animal
at bay, filled out a check for a hundred pounds and handed it
to her.

"A sop to Cerberus," the widow said, gayly; "do you know,
Sir John, I haven't had so much money at once for the past five
years ! How fortunate for me that I met Colonel Dangerfield
and lady that eventful day fifteen years ago in the hospital of
St. Lazare 1 And what a comfortable thing to a poor little
widow a great man's secret is ! Thank you. Sir John ; my
toilettes will do Scarswood credit during the remainder of my
stay."

And Mrs.* Vavasor kept her word. The faded silks and
shabby laces, the Palais-Royal diamonds and soiled gloves were
consigned to the lowest depths of oblivion and the widow's
trunks. And silks of rainbow hues, stiff enough in their rustling
richness to stand alone ; cobweb laces of marvellous price,
w4th the glimmer of real jewels, made the little woman gorgeous.
If she painted, she was past mistress of the art ; and none but
a very expert female eye could have detected the liquid rouge
that made her bloom so brightly, or that the sparkling radiance
of. her bright black eyes was the ghastly brilliance of belladonna.
Sir John's one hundred pounds went a very little way in his
visitor's magnificent toilet, and that first " sop to Cerberus" had
to be very speedily and very often renewed. In her own way,
she spent her time very pleasantly — tossing over purchases in
the Castleford shops, making agreeable flying trips to London
and back, driving about in a little basket-carriage and biding
her time.

All things are possible to the man who knows how to wait,
my dear Mr. Dangerfield," she said one day, to the baronet's
moody nephew. " I suppose the same rule applies to women.
Don't be impatient ; your time and mine is very near now. I
have waited for nearly eighteen years, and here you are grum-
bling, ingrate, at being obliged to stand in the background for
that many weeks ! How is it that we never see you at Scars-
wood now ? "

She picked up the Castleford attorney on one of her drives.

THE SECOND WARNING.

Since the night of the birthday party, Mr. Peter Dangerfield
had not shown his sallow face, colorless eyes and mustache
inside the great house.

"I don't think you need ask that- question — yoit^ of all
people," the young man answered, sulkily. What the deuce
should I do at Scarswood, looking at those two billing and coo-
ing? They say marriages are made in Heaven — I wonder if
this union of a fool and a knave was ever made in the celestial
regions ? In the infernal, I should say myself."

"My dear Mr. Dangerfield, aren't you a little severe? A
fool and a knave ! Would Katherine have been a fool, I
wonder, if she had accepted you the other night ?

*' * Oh, my cousin, shallow-hearted,
O, my Kathie, mine no more ! '

Don't be unreasonable, Mr. Dangerfield. You are as poor as
Mr. Dantree, and — if you will pardon my telling plain truth —
not half a quarter so good-looking. And then, she is not mar-
ried to him yet."

" No, but she soon will be. It is rumored in the town that
the wedding is fixed for early January. It's of no use your
talking and chaffing a fellow, Mrs. Vavasor ; the wedding day
will take place as sure as we sit here, and the next thing, there
will be an heir to Scarswood. In the poetic language of the
Orientals, your talk of the other night is all ' bosh.' It is ut-
terly impossible that Scarswood should ever fall to me."

Mrs. Vavasor laughed in hei^ agreeable way.

" Impossible is a very big word, friend Peter — too big for my
vocabulary. See here ! Will you give me your written prom-
ise that on the day Scarswood and its long rent-roll becomes
yours you will pay me down ten thousand pounds? It's a tol-
erable price, but not too much, considering the service I will
do you."

He looked at her darkly, and in doubt.

"Mrs. Vavasor," he said, slowly, "if that be your name — and
I don't believe it is — I'm not going to commit myself to you,
or anybody, in the dark. I am a lawyer, and won't break the
law. You're a very clever little woman — so clever that for the
rest of my life I mean to have nothing whatever to do with
you. If you had a spite at anybody, I don't suppose you
would stick at trifles to gratify it. But I'm not going to become
accessory to you before the fact to any little plot of yours. If

THE SECOND WARNING.

Scarswoocl ever comes to me, and I repeat, it is impossible it
ever should, it shall be by fair means, not — foul."

Mrs. Vavasor lay back among the cushions and laughed till
the echoes rang. They were in the streets of Castleford, and
passing pedestrians looked up and smiled from very sympathy
with that merry peal.

" He thinks I am going to commit a murder ! I really be-
lieve he does ! No — no ! Mr. Dangerfield, I'm not a lawyer,
but I respect the majesty of the law quite as greatly as you do.
I've done a great many queer things in my life, I don't mind
owning, but I never committed a murder, and I never mean
to, even to gratify spite. Come ! you're a coward, 77iofi ami,
even though you are a Dangerfield ; bat if you promise to per-
petrate no deed of darkness on the way, will you give me that
ten thousand when you are lord of the manor. Yes or no ?
just as you please. Sir John will, if you won't."

" I wish I understood — "

"Wait ! wait ! wait! You shall understand! we are draw-
ing near the Hall. Is it a promise ? "

" It will be a fool's promise, given in the dark — but yes, if
you will have it."

Mrs. Vavasor's eyes sparkled with a light this time not de-
rived from belladonna.

" You will give me that promise in writing ? "

" In anything ; it is easy enough to give a promise w^e never
expect to be called upon to fulfil. If through you Scarswood
Park becomes mine, I will willingly pay you the sum you ask."

" Very w^ell, then — it is a compact between us. You fetch
the document in writing the next time you visit us, and let that
visit be soon. You can surely bear the sight of our lovers'
raptures with the secret knowledge that they will never end in
wedlock."

" If I thought that," between his set teeth.

" You may think it. I know that of Katherine Dangerfield
which will effectually prevent Gaston Dantree from marrying
her. Ah! Speak of his Satanic Majesty and he appears. Be-
hold Katherine Dangerfield and the handsome lover her money
has bought ! "

They came dashing out from under the arched entrance
gates, both superbly mounted, for Mr. Dantree had the run of
the Morecambe stables. Remarkably handsome at all times,
Mr. Dantree invariably looked his best on horseback, and Miss
Dangerfield, in her tight-fitting habit, her tall hat with its sweep-

THE SECOND WARNING.

ing purple plumes, and wearing, oh, such an infinitely happy
face, was, if not handsome, at least dashing and bright enough
for the goddess Diana herself.

Look," Mrs. Vavasor said, maliciously ; " and they say
perfect bliss is not for this lower world. Let those who say so
come and look at Katherine Dangerfield and that beautiful
creature, Gaston Dantree — the very handsomest man I ever
saw, I believe, and I have seen some handsome men in my
lifetime. Real Oriental eyes, Mr. Dangerfield — long, black,
lustrous. And he bows with the grace of a prince of the blood."

The equestrians swept by. Mr. Dantree doffed his hat, and
bowed low to the smiling little lady in the basket car-
riage. Miss Dangerfield' s salute was of the haughtiest. Some
feminine instinct told her her father's guest was her enemy,
despite her sugary speeches, her endearing epithets, her cease-
less smiles.

" I hate that woman, papa ! " Katherine more than once
burst out to her father. " I hate people who go through life
continually smirking. If you told her black was white, she
would say, ' So it is, my sweetest pet,' and look as if she be-
lieved it — little hypocrite ! I detest her, and she detests me,
and she makes you miserable — oh, I can see it ! now what I
want to know is, what's she doing here ? "

And Katherine stood before her father, and looked for an
answer, with her bright, clear eyes fixed full upon him. He
had shifted under the gaze of those frank eyes, with a sort of
suppressed groan.

" I wish you would try and treat her a little more civilly than
you do, Kathie," he answered, avoiding his daughter's searching
glance ; "you were perfectly rude to her last night. It is not
like you, Kathie, to be discourteous to the guest that eats of
your bread and salt."

" And it is very like her to play eavesdropper. I caught her
behind a tall orange tree listening to every word Gaston and I
were saying. I merely told her 1 would repeat our conversa-
tion any night for her benefit if she was so determined to hear
it as to play the spy. She is an odious little wretch, papa, if
she is your friend, and I don't believe she is. She paints and
she tells polite lies every hour of the day, and she hates me
with the whole strength of her venomous little soul. And she
looks at you and speaks to you in a way I don't understand —
as though she had you in . her power. Papa, I warn you !
You'll come to grief if you keep any secrets from me."

THE SECOND WARNING.

" Katherine, for pity's sake, go and leave me alone ! I in
her power ! What abominable nonsense you talk. Go ! walk,
drive, sing, amuse yourself with your new toy — the singing man
— anything, only leave me to read my Times in peace. I begin
to believe Victor Hugo's words, 'Men are women's play-
things, and women are the dev — ' "

"That will do, papa," interrupted Katherine, walking away
in offended dignity. "You can say things quite bitter enough
yourself, without quoting that cynical Frenchman. Mrs. Vava-
sor may be Satan's plaything, for what I know. Of that you
are naturally the best judge. How long is she to force herself
upon us in this house ? "

"/don't know. She will leave before you are — married" —
the word seemed to choke him — " and, Kathie, child, I do wish
you would try and treat her with common civility — for my
sake, if not for hers."

" And why for your sake, papa ? I hate doing things in the
dark. What claim has she upon you that I should become a
hypocrite and treat her civilly?"

"The claim of — of acquaintance in the past, of being my
guest in th ^ present. And, without any other reason, you might
do it because I desire it, Katherine."

" I would do a good deal to oblige you, papa ; even to —
well, even to being civil to that painted, little, soft-spoken,
snake-eyed woman. She has eyes precisely like a snake, and is
to be trusted just as far. Papa, what is it she knows about my
mother ? "

" Your mother ! What do you mean ?"

"Just this — that she has some secret in her possession which
you are afraid she will tell, and the secret concerns my mother.
She is trading on that secret in forcing herself into this house,
for you dishke her as much as I do. Sir John Dangerfield, only
you won't own it. I am to be kept in the dark, it seems.
Very well ! I don't want to pry into your mysteries, only you
can't expect me to shut my eyes to what goes on before them.
That woman has some secret which you are afraic she will tell,
and you pay her large sums for keeping it, and that secret con-
cerns my mother. Don't look so thunderstruck, papa! I
won't turn amateur detective, and try to find it out, and I will
be as civil as it is in human nature — such human nature as
mine — to be ; only don't try to pass off that creature as an old
friend or anything of that sort. And get her out of this house
as soon as you can, for all our sakes."
4

THE SECOND WARNING.

And, when Miss Dangerfield walked out of the room in of-
fended majesty, Sir John was left to enjoy his Times as best he
might after learning his sharp-sighted daughter's discovery.

Katherine turned in her saddle now and looked after the
pony phaeton and its occupant.

" HoAV I do dislike that woman, Gaston ! " she exclaimed.
And you're an uncommonly good hater, ma belle^^ Mr.
Dantree answered, coolly. "You can love, but you can hate
also. In the blissful days to come, when I am your lawful lord
and master, it shall be my Christian endeavor tD teach you bet-
ter morality. I know several people whose enmity I should
prefer to yours."

" I could never be an enemy of yours, Gaston — never ! Do
what they might, I never could hate those whom I once loved.
My likes and dislikes come at first sight. I detested that
woman fi om the moment 1 set eyes on her."

" Feminine instinct, I suppose. There is no love lost be-
tween you, darling. I've caught her looking at you at times
when she thought no one was watching her, and — well, it
wasn't a pleasant look, either, to give or receive. She smiles a
great deal, but it isn't a very mirthful smile, and she's the sort
of woman to present you a dose of strychnine and a kiss
together. What does she do at Scarswood? An old
friend of his, I think Sir John said. He didn't look at her in a
very friendly manner, by the bye, as he said it. She is a most
unwelcome intruder, it is easy to be seen, to Sir John as well
as to you. Why, then, does he not give her her cong'a ? "

"Ah, why, indeed," Katherine repeated, with a frown ; " I
wish some one would tell me why. There is some secret un-
derstanding between them that I can't fathom, I wonder if
papa ever committed a murder, or a forgery, or some interest-
ing crime of that sort, and that this little human cat has found
it out, and holds the secret like the sword of Dam — what's-his-
name — suspended over his head by a single hair. That would
be like the plot of a modern novel."

" Like the plot of a modern novel, perhaps, but not in the
least like Sir John Dangerfield. Still I think you're right,
Kathie ; there is a secret understanding, and if that under-
standing relates to a crime, I don't believe Sir John ever com-
mitted it. The dear old dad doesn't over and above like me,
my darling : still he's a game old bird, and never did mortal
man or woman wilful wrong in his life, I'm positive. Doesn't
our florid little widow often allude in an odd sort of way to

THE SECOND WARNINQ.

your mother, Kathie ? Now, it strikes me the secret — for there
is one — involves her."

" I think it very Ukely, indeed," responded Katherine, " and
I told papa so only yesterday."

" You did ! And what did he say ? "

" Nothing satisfactory — only lost his temper — a chronic loss
with him since Mrs. Vavasor's advent. He used to be the
dearest old love, but he's become completely demoralized since
that woman's been in the house. She always talks as if she
had been an intimate friend of my mother's, and papa fidgets,
and winces, and turns red and pale by turns, and never says a
word. Mysteries may be very interesting," said Miss Danger-
field with a frown, " but I'd rather have them neatly bound in
cloth than live in the house with them. One comfort is, she is
going to leave Scarswood before — "

Katherine blushed, and laughed, and broke off.

" Well, ma belle, before when ? "
Before — oh, well, before we are married ! Now, Gaston —
on the pubUc road, sir, don't / It's all very well to know that
the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children, and all
that, but it's nowhere in the catechism, that the inconvenient
friendship of the mother shall, and I devoutly wish our visitor
in Joppa ! I never saw my mother that I can recollect. I
never heard papa speak much about her, and everybody tells
me I don't look the least in the world like her — I don't look
like papa either — Colonel and the late Mrs. Dangerfield were
both handsome. No, I don't want a compliment — not even
your eyes, Gaston, can make me out other than sallow and
plain. And," with a little droop of the head, a little falter of
the young voice, " I never wished in all my life as I have
wished to be beautiful since — I have known you."

" My dearest Kathie," Mr. Dantree said, poHtely, struggling
with a yawn, "for a very sensible girl, as girls go, you can
talk precious nonsense sometimes ! Sallow and plain ! I
confess I should never have found it out if you had not told
me. You don't want to be cast in the mould of the stereotype
British young lady, I hope, with a face like a pink and white
wax-doll, and a head more hollow. I can only say if you had
you would never have bewitched me."

" Gaston," Miss Dangerfield said, "do you know what they
say in Castleford — what Mrs. Vavasor says about you ? "

" Not at present," answered Mr. Dantree, widi his custom-

THE SECOND WARNING.

ary imperturbable saiig f7'oid^ " nothing good though, I'm quite
certain."

" They say — it is almost an insult to you to repeat it — that
it is not Katherine Dangerfield you love, but the heiress of
Scarsvvood."

She looked up to see some outburst of indignation — to
hear an indignant denial. But Mr. Dantree only smiled be-
nignly.

You don't think that is news to me, do you, Kathie? Of
course, they think — why shouldn't they — I would myself in their
place. My dear child, you are seventeen and haven't seen much
of life — I'm seven and twenty and have seen it in all its phases.
And I tell you no poor man, such as I am, ever married a
wealthy wife yet, that the same wasn't said. He may love her
with the passion of a second Romeo — it will make no differ-
ence. She is rich, he is poor, and it naturally follows he must
be a mere mercenary fortune-hunter. There were people in
Lyons, perhaps, who said Claude Melnotte only wanted Pau-
line for her fortune, until he proved his disinterestedness. Of
course they say I'm a fortune-hunter and adventurer — I would
be very greatly surprised if they did not. Your father thinks
so — Mrs. Vavasor, knowing how she would act in my place,
thinks so — your cousin Peter, furious with his late rejection,
thinks so. But you — Kathie — my darling — " he bent his pa-
thetic liquid dark eyes upon her, " you surely do not ; if you
do — then here — this moment bid me go, and I will obey."

" Gaston — what nonsense ! If I beHeved, would I be at
your side now ? I should die if I doubted you."

Mr. Dantree laughed a little cynically.

"No, you wouldn't die, Kathie. Broken hearts went out of
fashion with Paul and Virginia and our great grandmothers.
You'd not die, Kathie — you'd forget me in six months for — what
you could easily find — a better man."

Mr. Dantree was right, it would have been very easy to find
a better man, but Katherine Dangerfield was seventeen, and the
glamour of a melodious voice, of Spanish eyes, and a face like
some Rembrandt picture was upon her, and her whole heart
was in the words.

" I would never forget. When I forget you — true or false —
I shall have forgotten all things earthly."

Something in her tone, in her eyes, moved him. He lifted
one of her hands and kissed it.

"I am not half worthy such love and trust as j^^ours. I am a

THE SECOND WARNING.

villain, Kathie — not fit to kiss the hem of your garment. My
life has been one long round of

* Reckless days and reckless nights —
Unholy songs and tipsy fights.'

But I will try — I will — to make you happy when you are my
wife. And the sooner that day comes now the better. Miss
Dangerfield," resuming his customary careless tone, " are you
aware it is beginning to rain?"

It had been a fitful October day — now sungleams, now gray
gloom. Katherine looked up at the sky, and one great drop,
then another fell upon her face. The whole sky was dark with
drifting clouds, and growing each instant darker. The storm
which had been brewing all day was close upon them.

" And we are five miles from Scarswood, and in five minutes
the rain will descend in torrents. Gaston, what shall we do ?
I had rather not get drenched, papa will scold."

" And I had rather not get drenched even without a papa to
scold. Drenching includes influenza, watery eyes, and a ten-
dency to talk through one's nose, and is not an interesting com-
plaint. Can't we run to cover somewhere? You know every-
body in this neighborhood. There's Major Marchmont's yon-
der— aren't those the ivied turrets of Marchmont Place I
behold through the trees ? "

" Y-e-e-s."

" My dear, I understand your hesitation. The gallant major
did his best to snub me the other day, but I'm of a forgiving
turn and don't much mind. I think I could endure that old
officer's grim looks more easily than the raging elements on the
open downs. Shall we make for Marchmont ? "

" No," said Katherine ; " if you can endure Major March-
mont's insults, I can't. We can do better than that — we can
go to Bracken Hollow."

" With all my heart. Where is Bracken Hollow ? "

" Not a quarter of a mile off". This way, Gaston, or we
shall get the drenching after all. The place belongs to my old
nurse — she came with us from India, and papa gave her the
place to end her days in, and to get rid of her ; she and Ninon,
my maid, led a perfect cat-and-dog Hfe. Quick, Gaston ! Good
gracious, what a deluge ! "

The rain was falling in torrents now. Ilderim fairly flew be-
fore it — and Mr. Dantree followed his leader. They were close

THE SECOND WARNING.

to the coast ; far away the white foammg sea heaved its dull
booming on the shore mingled with the rush of the rain.

" Here we are ! " Katherine cried : and we have got the
drenching after all."

And then Gaston Dantree looked up and beheld Bracken
Hollow.

A long, low, black-looking house, lying in a sheltered green
hollow, close to the shore, the brake or bracken growing thick
and high all around, and tall elms shutting it in. An eerie
spot, with the eternal thunder of the sea close down below the
cliffs ; a lonely spot, with no other habitation near.

Gaston Dantree was in no way a superstitious or imagina-
tive man, but now as he looked, that chill, creeping feeling
stole over him — that impressible shudder which makes people
say "some one is walking over my grave," thrilled through
him.

A ghastly place enough, Kathie," he said, leaping off his
horse ; " a murder might be committed here and no one be the
wiser."

" A murder once was committed here," Katherine answered ;
" a terrible murder. A young girl, no older than I am, shot
her false lover dead under those funeral elms. They took her,
tried her, condemned her, and hung her, and they say those
ghostly lovers keep tryst here still."

Gaston Dantree still stood by his horse, looking with extreme
disfavor at the black cottage, at the blacker trees.

" A horrible story, and a horrible place. I don't know why,
but if you'll believe me, Kathie, I feel afraid to enter that
house. I'm not a coward in a general way, and once, out
West, slept a whole night in a room with a dead man, a fellow
who had cut his own throat, without feeling any particular
qualms about it ; but I'll be hanged if I want to enter here. If
I believed in presentiments now, or if there were such things, I
should say some awful fate was going to befall me at Bracken
Hollow ! "

Gaston, don't be a goose, and don't be German and meta-
physical. Some awful fate will overtake you at Bracken Hol-
low, and that speedily if you don't come in out of the rain — an
attack of Inflammatory rheumatism."

She skurried with uplifted skirts into the low porch, and her
lover slowly followed.

Katherine knocked loudly and imperatively at the door.
She's deaf, poor soul," she said. " It's the only one of her

THE SECOND WARNING.

faculties, except her teeth, that she has lost. Are one's teeth
one's faculties, Gaston?"

" Yes, my dear, and extremely important about dinner-time.
I can't say I envy your ex-nurse the cheerful spot in which she
is spending the lively remainder of her days. Ah, the door
opens. Now for the presiding witch of Bracken Hollow.
Bracken Hollow — there's something ghostly and gloomy in the
very name."

A tall old woman, hale and erect, with iron-gray hair and
preternaturally bright eyes, held open the door and looked
stolidly at her two visitors.

" How do, Hannah ? Get out of the way, you hospitable
old soul and let us in. You needn't mind if you're not dressed
for company — considering the weather we won't be fastidious.
Any port in a storm, you know. This is Mr. Gaston Dantree,
Hannah. You've heard of him, I dare say."

Old Hannah reared herself a little more upright and trans-
fixed the Louisianian with her brilliant little eyes.

I've heard of Mr. Gaston Dantree — yes. Miss Katherine,
and I'm glad you've brought him to see me."

" You don't seem to be very cordial about it then ; you don't
say you're glad to see him."

" I'm not a fine lady. Miss Katherine — I don't tell polite
lies. I'm not glad. You're going to marry him, they say — is
it true?"

^' Well, yes," Katherine laughed, good-naturedly, " I'm afraid
it is. You pity him, nursey, don't you ? You took care of me
a decade of years or so, and you know what he has to ex-
pect."

" I pity you ! " old Hannah answered, with a second solemn,
prolonged stare at her nurseling's lover ; "I pity you ! Only
seventeen, and trouble, trouble, trouble before you."

It was not an easy matter to stare Mr. Gaston Dantree out
of countenance as a general tiling, but his eyes fell now before
old Hannah's basilisk gaze.

" Confound the hag ! " he muttered, turning to the window ;
" what does she mean ? "

Katherine was fond of her old nurse — too fond to be irritated
now by her croaking.

Don't be disagreeable, Hannah," she said; ''and don't
stare in that Gorgon-like way. It's rude, and Mr. Dantree is
modest to a fault. See how you put him out of countenance. Sit
(^own here, like a dear old thing, and tell me all about the rheu-

THE SECOND WARNING.

matism, and what you want me to get you for the winter ; you'll
have lots of time before the rain holds up."

" The rain is holding up now, Kathie," her lover said. " I
knew it was too violent to last. In ten minutes it will have
ceased. Come, we can go."

He could not account to himself for his feverish haste to
leave this place — for the sudden and intense dislike he had
taken to this grim old woman.

I'll go and see to the horses," he said, and smoke a cigar
in the porch, while you talk to your nurse."

He quitted the room. Katherine looked after the graceful
figure and negligent walk with eyes full of girlish admiration ;
then she turned to Hannah.

Isn't he handsome, nursey? Now confess; you're sixty or
more, but you like handsome people still, don't you ? Isn't
he just the very handsomest man you ever saw in all your
life ? "

" He's rare and handsome. Miss Kathie," the old woman
said, slowly ; rare and handsome surely. But, my little one,
don't you marry him. It's not the face to trust — it's as false as
it's fair."

" Now Hannah, I can't listen to this — I really can't. I
thought you would have wished me joy, if nobody else.
Everybody says horrid things — nothing is too bad to be said of
Mr. Dantree — and all because he is poor and I am rich — fort-
une-hunter, adventurer, false. It's a shame."

"It's the truth, my bairnie. Be warned, and draw back
while there is yet time."

Miss Dangerfield arose with calm dignity. It wasn't worth
while losing one's temper with old Hannah.

" Good-by, nursey — I'm going. You are disagreeable to-day,
and I always go away immediately from disagreeable people.
I shall send you those flannels, though, all the same. Good-
by."

She was gone as she spoke. The ram had nearly ceased,
and Mr. Dantree was waiting for her impatiently. His dusk.
Southron face looked strangely pallid in the gray twilight of the
wet October evening.

" Come, Kathie ; it will rain again presently, and night will
f-^U in half an hour. The sooner we see the last of Bracken
Hollow the better."

" How frightened he is of Bracken Hollow ! " Katherine said,
laughing : " like a child of a bogie. Why, I wonder ? "

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS. * 8 1

" Why, indeed ? Why do you hate Mrs. Vavasor, Kath-
erine ? She hasn't given you any cause — yet.

"'I do not like you, Dr. Fell,
The reason why, I cannot tell.*

I can't tell you why, but I never want to see Bracken Hollow
again."

She looked up into his face. What a darkly moody expres-
sion it wore ! It half-spoiled his beauty. And all the way
home, through the chill, rainy gloaming, old Hannah's words
rang like a warning in her ears : False as fair — false as fair 1 "

CHAPTER VIII.

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

R. DANTREE dined at Scarswood, and rode home-
ward through the wet darkness somewhere before mid-
night.

It had been a very pleasant evening, and the Louis-
ianian was in the best possible spirits as he rode back to
Morecambe. The day was drawing near when a more splen-
did abode than Morecambe would be his — when he would
reign supreme at Scarswood Park.

" The governor can't hold out very long now," Mr. Dantree
mused. "After thirteen years of hill-life in India, his liver
can't be the size of a walnut — and then, he's apoplectic. Your
short-necked, florid-faced, healthy-looking old buffers are always
fragile blossoms ; it's touch-and-go with them at any moment.
And he's taking his daughter's engagement to my noble self
desperately to heart — he's been breaking every day since. I
wonder what's up between him and the little widow? It
wouldn't be pleasant if she should turn out to be a first wife, or
something of that sort, and at his death produce an interesting
heir or heiress and oust Mrs. Dantree. It looks suspiciously
like it; she's got a strong claim of some kind upon him, and
he's more afraid of her than he ever was of the savagest Sepoy
out yonder. I wish I could get at the bottom of the matter,
before I commit myself further and slip the ring over Miss Dan-
gerfield's finger. Not that it matters very greatly — neither

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

matrimonial nor any other fetters ever could bind me. It may
all turn out right, however, and I may reign grand seigneur of
Scarswood. Rather a change in a few months, for a penniless
penny-a-liner. Marie's the only drawback. If ever she finds
this out, there'll be the devil to pay in New Orleans."

Miss Dangerfield had been rather surprised when on enter-
ing the drawing-room that evening, after her wet ride from
Bracken Hollow, she found her cousin Peter playing chess with
Mrs. Vavasor. It was the first time since their quarrel that he
had entered the house. She went over to him with the frank,
girlish grace that always characterized her, and gave him her
hand.

" Welcome back to Scarswood, cousin," she said ; " I began
to think you had quite deserted us. Is it to the claims of kin-
ship or to the fascinations of Mrs. Vavasor we owe the present
visit, I wonder ? "

A little of both, Kathie, and a cousinly desire to offer my
congratulations to the future Mrs. Dantree. I wish you both
every happiness."

He did not look at her as he said it, and something in his
voice struck unpleasantly on Katherine's ear.

"You are very good," she said, a little coldly. "May I
overlook your game ? Who is going to win ? "

"I am of course. We come of a race, Kathie, that always
win."

But Mr. Daugerfield was mistaken.

" Check ! " Mrs. Vavasor cried, sharply and triumphantly, a
few minutes after. " Your race may always win except — when
they have a Vavasor for an enemy."

Katherine's eyes sparkled.

" Try again, Peter," she said ; " a Dangerfield never yields ! "

" I fear I must ; I am no match for Mrs. Vavasor. Ah !
here is Dantree — lucky dog ! I must go over and congratulate
him. It's not every day a poor devil drops into eight thousand
a year and the finest place in the county."

" Katherine dear, suppose you try," Mrs. Vavasor gayly ex-
claimed, " and vindicate the honor of the Dangei fields. I play
chess pretty well, but who knows — you may become more than
a match for me."

" Well," Katherine said coolly, " I think in the long run I
would. I have a great deal of determination — obstinacy per-
haps you might call it — and when I make up my mind to do
anything, I generally do do it."

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

" Such as marrying a handsome tenor singer. Don't be an-
gry, Katherine. Mr. Dantree is worthy of you, I am sure.
Now, then, for a pitched battle between you and me, and woe
to the conquered ! "

There was a sneering defiance underlying her words — a sar-
donic gleam in her black eyes that Katherine understood.
There was more at stake than a simple game of chess ; they
looked at one another steadily for an instant, then began the
game.

The two gentlemen approached. Peter Dangerfield took
his place behind the chair of the widow ; Mr. Dantree leaned
lightly over that of Kathie. They stood like two seconds
watching a duel, and neither spoke. A profound stillness filled
the long, velvet-hung, lamplit drawing-room, in which you
could hear the light faUing on the cinders in the grate, the
ceaseless beating of the rain on the glass. Which would win ?

The widow, it seemed. In the gleam of the lamp-light there
was a flush on her cheek that was not all rouge, a sparkle in
her black eyes, not belladonna. She wore a wine-colored silk,
decollete, and her plump, white shoulders and arms shone like
marble ; the rich, ruby-red jewels flashed on her fingers, on her
neck ; a bracelet of fine gold and rubies encircled her wrist,
and a crimson rose nestled in the shining, luxurious blackness
of hair. All crimson and black — with a fiery intensity of pur-
pose flushing her face — and that peculiar glittering smile of hers
on her thin lips. Gaston Dantree thought of some beautiful
Circe — some fatal siren come on earth to work ruin and dark-
ness.

" And yet, after all," he thought, I believe in my soul
Katherine is more than a match for her. How coolly — how
thoroughly calm and self-possessed she sits, not one pulse beat-
ing the quicker — while the eyes of her enemy are on fire with her
devihsh determination to win. In a long-drawn battle of any
kind between these two, I'd back the heiress of Scarswood."

Then more and more absorbed in the game he forgot even
to think. He bent over until his crisp black curls touched
Katherine' s cheek. She glanced up at him for a second — her
still face brightening — a faint color coming in her cheeks.

" A, drawn battle is it not, Gaston ? " she said, " and a true
Dangerfield prefers death to defeat."

Mrs. Vavasor saw both look and smile, and a savage resolu-
tion to win at all hazards possessed her. She knit her straight
black brows, and bent to the game, her Hps compressed in one

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

Straight red line. She hated Katherine at that moment with an
intensity she had never felt before. How coolly she sat there
making her moves, with a face of marble, while she was thrilling
in every vein with a fever of excitement. And how she loved
that man behind her, and how happy she was in that love.

And to her mother I owe all I have eveT suffered — the sin,
the sorrow, the shame ! Pray Heaven they may fix the wed-
ding-day speedily, or I shall never be able to wait ! I wonder
how I have waited all these years and years. Ah ! a false move,
my lady, a false move. The victory is mine ! "

But the exultant thought came too soon. Katherine' s move,
made after long deliberation, certainly looked like a false one
— the widow answered in a glow of triumph. A second later
and she saw her mistake — Katherine' s false-seeming move had
been made with deliberate intention. Her eyes flashed for the
first time — she made a last rapid pass and rose conqueror.

" Checkmated ! " she cried, with a slight laugh of triumph.
" I knew I should vanquish you in the end, Mrs. Vavasor ! "

Dinner ! " announced the butler, flinging wide the door,
and Miss Dangerfield took the arm of Mr. Dantree and swept
with him into the dining-room.

"You did that splendidly, Kathie," he said; "you have no
idea how proud I am of your conquest ; and she was so sure of
winning. She hates you as those little venomous women only
can hate — do you know it?"

" Certainly I know it," Katherine responded with supreme
carelessness. " I have known it eter since I saw her first.
She hates me and could strychnine me this moment with all the
pleasure in life."

" But why, I wonder ? " said Mr. Dantree, " you never knew
her before she came here — you never did anything to harm
her?"

" My dearest Gaston, it is not always the people who have
done something to harm us we dislike most. We detest them
because we detest them. Mrs. Vavasor and I are antagonistic ;
we would simply hate each other under any circumstances.
How bent she was on Avinning that game, and I — I should have
died of mortification if she had."

" Take care of her, Kathie ! that woman means to do you
injury of some kind before she quits this house. Whether it
be for your mother's sake or your own, doesn't matter — she
means to harm you if she can."

Katherine threw back her head with an imperial gesture.

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

Let her ! I am not afraid. If it comes to that, I may beat
her at her own game, as I did five minutes ago. She can't take
you from me, Gaston," with a Uttle gay laugh — can she ? Any-
thing else I fancy I can bear."

He stooped and answered her in whispered words, and Kath-
erine's face was quite radiant as she took her place at the
table.

Mrs. Vavasor followed with Mr. Dangerfield. She had risen
from the table and taken his proffered arm, quite white for an
instant through all her rouge. He saw that pallor beneath paint
and powder.

And you are beaten after all, Mrs. Vavasor, and by Kath-
erine Dangerfield ! Your game of chess meant more than a
game of chess — is it emblematic? She's fearfully and won-
derfully plucky, this cousin of mine. Will she come off vic-
torious at other games than chess, I wonder?"

She looked up at him for one moment, and all the passion,
the rage, the hatred, smouldering within her, burst forth.

" I'll crush her ! " she cried in a furious whisper. I'll crush
her ! And the day is very near now. This is only one more
item added to the long account I owe her. She shall pay off
all — the uttermost farthing, with compound interest."

^' And stab through hi?n,'' Peter Dangerfield said darkly ;
" the surest blow you can strike is the one that proves him the
traitor and fortune-hunter he is. I believe in my soul it would
be her death."

" I shall strip her of all — all — lover — father, name even. I
will wait until her wedding-day and strike home then. When
her cup of bliss is fullest and at her very lips I shall dash it
down. And, my brilliant, haughty, high-spirited heiress of Scars-
wood, how will it be, with you then ? "

Sir John was in his place — a darkly moody host, amid the
lights, the flowers, and the wines. Mrs. Vavasor was even in
higher spirits than usual. Mr. Dangerfield was talkative and
agreeable, Katherine was happy, and disposed to be at peace
with the world and all therein, even Mrs. Vavasor. She loved,
she was beloved — all life's greatest happiness is said in that.
For Mr. Dantree, he was simply delightful. He told them in-
imitable stories of life in the Southern States, until even grim
Sir John relaxed into interest, and after dinner in the drawing-
room sang for them his favorite after-dinner song, " When tlie
Winecup is Sparkling Before Us," in his delicious voice, that
enchanted even those who hated him most. The piano stood

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

in a shadowy recess down at one extremity of the long' room —
Katherine and he had it all to themselves. Mrs. Vavasor was
busy with some flimsy feminine handiwork. Mr. Dangerfield
sat beside her, turning over a book of photographs, and Sir John
lying back in his easy-chair, kept his eyes closed as though
asleep. His face wore a worn look of care — he was watching
those two shadowy figures at the piano, and as he listened to
this man's voice, so thrillingly sweet, as he looked at his face
— the lamplight streaming on his dusk Spanish beauty, he
scarcely wondered at Katherine' s infatuation.

*' Fairer than a woman .and more unstable than water," he
thought, bitterly, " and this is the reed she has chosen to lean
upon through life ! My poor little Kathie, and I am powerless
to save you — unless — I speak and tell all. Heaven help you
if this man ever finds out the truth."

"Sing me something Scotch, Gaston," Katherine said. She
was seated in a low fauteuil, close beside him, her hands lying
idly in her lap — her head back among the cushions. It was
characteristic of this young lady that she had never done a
stitch of fancy-work in her life. She was quite idle now, per-
fectly happy — listening to the howling of the October storm in
the park, and Mr. Dan tree's exquisite singing.

" Sing something Scotch — a ballad. If I have a weakness,
which is doubtful, it is for Scotch songs."

Mr. Dantree heard but to obey. He ran his fingers lightly
over the keys, smiled slightly to himself, and glanced half-mali-
ciously at the girl's supremely contented face.

" How well pleased she looks," he thought. " I wonder if I
cannot change that blissful expression. ' Many women have
done me the honor to fall in love with me, but I don't think
any of them were quite so hard hit as you, not even excepting
Marie."

He played a prelude in a plaintive minor key, wonderfully
sweet, with a wailing understrain, quite heart-breaking, and sang.
His face changed and darkened, his voice took a pathos none
of his hearers had ever heard before.

" A weary lot is thine, fair maid —
A weary lot is thine !
To pull the thorn thy brow to braid

And press the rue for wine.
A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,

A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green
No more of me you knew,

My love !
No more of me you knew.

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

" This morn is merry June, I trow.

The rose is budding fain,
But she shall bloom in winter snow

Ere we two meet again !
He turned his charger as he spoke

Upon the river shore —
He gave the reins a shake, and said :

* Adieu forevermore,

My love !

Adieu forevermore.'"

It died out faint and low as the last cadence of a funeral
hymn. And then he glanced at Katherine. He had changed
the expression of that sensitive face cruelly — it lay back now
against the ruby red of the velvet, as colorless as the winter
snow of which he sang. He arose from the piano with a laugh.

*' Kathie, you are as white as a ghost. I have given you the
blues with my singing, or bored you to death. Which ? "

She laughed a little as she rose.

" Your song was beautiful, Gaston, but twice too sad — it has
given me the heartache. It is too suggestive, I suppose, of
man's perfidy and woman's broken trust. I never want to hear
you sing that again."

It was late when the two gentlemen bade good-night and
left. Mrs. Vavasor took her night lamp and went up the black
oaken stairway, her ruby silk trailing and gleaming in lurid
splendor behind her.

" Good-night, Kathie, darling — how pale and tired the child
looks. And you didn't like that divine Mr. Dantree's last
song ? It was the gem of the evening to my mind — so sug-
gestive and all that. Bonne nuit et bonnes reves, ma belle " —
Mrs. Vavasor had a habit among her other gushing habits of
gushing out into foreign languages now and then — " and try
and get your bright looks back to-morrow. Don't let your
complexion fade for any man — there isn't one on earth worth
it. A demain I good-night.

" * A lightsome eye, a soldier's mien,
A feather of the blue,
A doublet of the Lincoln green,
No more of me you knew.

My love.
No more of me you knew ! ' "

And with a last backward glance and still singing the ominous
song, brilliant little Mrs. Vavasor vanished.

Mr. Gaston Dantree rode back to his temporary home at
Morecambe in very excellent spirits. What an uncommonly
good-looking, fascinating sort of fellow he must be that all the

88 A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

women should lose their heads for him in this fashion. Surely
the gods who presided over his destiny must have been in a
most propitious mood when they created him their bright partic-
ular star.

"I've always heard it is better to be born lucky than rich,
and gad ! I believe' it. / was born a pauper. My mother
vended apples in the streets of New York ; and my father —
well, the less said about him, the better. He bequeathed me
his good looks, his voice, and his — loose-fitting morality. Un-
til the age of eight, I ran wild about the streets ; then my pretty
face, and curly head, and artistic way of singing ' Oh, Susannah ! '
attracted the attention of Mrs. Weymore, rich, childless, senti-
mental, good-natured, and — a fool. I was sent to school,
tricked out in velvet and ruffles, kissed, praised, petted, flat-
tered, spoiled by all the ladies, young and old, who visited my
foster mamma; and, by Jove ! they've been at it ever since.
Then at sixteen came that ugly little episode of the forged
check. That was hushed up. Then followed the robbery of
Mrs. Weymore's diamonds, traced clearly home to me. They
would not overlook that. I inherited my light-fingered pro-
clivities from my father as well as the good looks they praised ;
but they wouldn't take that into consideration. Then for four
years there was the living by my wits — doing a little of every-
thing under heaven. Then came New Orleans and my new,
and, I flattered myself, taking cognomen of Gaston Dantree,
my literary ventures, and their success in their way. And then
after three years more came old De I.ansac and Marie — poor
little Marie. I thought I had found the purse of Fortunatus
then, when, lo ! the old fool must up and get married. And,
as if that weren't enough, there must follow an heir, and adieu
to all Marie's hopes and mine. Then I crossed the Atlantic to
try my luck on this side the pond, and I believe I've accom-
plished my destiny at last, as lord of Scarsvvood, at eight thou-
sand a year. I believe I shall be a square peg, fitting neat
and trim, into a square hole. Katherine's a drawback — exact-
ing, and romantic, and all that bosh — but everything as we
wish it, is not for this world below. The old gentleman will go
toes up shortly. I shall take the name of Sir Dantree Dan-
gerfield, sink the Gaston, and Uve happy forever after."

Mr. Dantree was still singing that ballad of the faithless lover
as he ran lightly upstairs to his room. He threw ofl" his wet
overcoat, poked the fire, turned up the lamp, and saw on the
table a letter.

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

Now a letter to the handsome tenor singer was not an agree-
able sight. Letters simply meant duns or else — He snatched
it up with an oath. This was no dun ; it was something even
worse. It was superscribed in a woman's hand, and was post-
marked New Orleans.

" From Marie, by Jupiter ! " he exclaimed, blankly. " Now,
how the dev — ah, I have it. It came to my address in London,
and the publishers have forwarded it here. Shall I open it, or
pitch it into the fire unread ? Deuce take all women. Can they
never let a fellow alone ? What a paradise earth would be with-
out them ! "

He did not throw the letter into the fire, however. He threw
himself into an easy chair instead, stretched forth his splashed
riding boots to the blaze, and tore it open. It had the merit
of being brief at least, and remarkably to the point :

New Orleans, Sept. i6tli, 1869.
Gaston : — Are you never going to write ? — are you never coming
back ? Are you ill or are you faithless ? The last, surely ; it would be in
keeping with, all the rest. Does your dead silence mean that I am deserted
and forever ? If so, only say it, and you are free as the wind that blows.
I will never follow you — never ask aught of you. No man alive — though
he were ten thousand times more to me than yoii have been — shall ever be
sued for fidelity by me. Come or stay, as you choose ; this is the last let-
ter I shall ever trouble you with. Return this and all my other letters —
my picture also, ifl am deserted. But, oh, Gaston ! Gaston ! have I
deserved this? Marie.

That was all. The woman's heart of the writer had broken
forth in that last sentence, and she had stopped, fearing to trust
herself. Mr. Dantree read it slowly over, looking very calm
and handsome in the leaping firelight.

" Plucky little girl ! " was his finishing comment ; " it is hard
lines on her, after all that's past and gone. But there's no help
for it, Marie. * I have learned to love another — I have broken
every vow — we have parted from each other — and your heart
is lonely now,' and all that sort of thing. I wonder if I ever
had a heart ! I doubt it. I'm like Minerva, a heart was left
out in my make-up ; I never was really in love in my life, and
I don't want to be. Women are very well as stepping-stones
to fortune, fame, ambition ; but for love in the abstract — bah !
But poor little Marie ! if I ever did approach the spooney, it
was for her ; if I have it in me to care for anything or anybody
but myself, it is for her."

And then Mr. Dantree produced a little black pipe, loaded

A LETTER FROM NEW ORLEANS.

to the muzzle, struck a fusee, and fell back again to enjoy him-
self. He looked the picture of a luxurious Sybarite, lounging
negligently among the cushions before the genial fire.

" And I know she'll keep her word," he muttered reflectively.
" No breach of promise, no avenger on the track in this case,
Gaston, my boy ; all nice and smooth, and going on velvet.
That's a good idea about sending back the letters and photo-
graph. I'll act upon it at once. A married man's a fool who
keeps such souvenirs of his bachelorhood loose about. And
Kathie isn't the sort of girl either to stand that species of non-
sense— she's proud as the deuce, as becomes the daughter of an
old soldier, and as jealous as the devil ! "

Mr. Dan tree arose, and crossing to where his writing-case lay,
unlocked it, and produced a package, neatly tied up with blue
ribbon. They were letters — only a woman's letters — in the
same hand as that of to-night, and in their midst a carte de
visite. He took this latter up and looked at it. It was the
face of a girl in her first youth, a darkly piquante face, with
two large eyes looking at you from waving masses of dark hair
— a handsome, impassioned face, proud and spirited. And
Gaston Dantree's hard, coldly bright brown eyes grew almost
tender as he gazed.

" Poor child ! " he said — " poor little girl ! How pretty she
used to look in her misty white dresses, her laces, the creamy
roses she used to wear, her dusk cheeks flushed, and her big
blue eyes like stars ! Poor little thing ! and she would have
laid a princely fortune at my feet, with her heart and hand, if
that old bloke, her grandfather, hadn't euchred her out of it.
And I would have been a very good husband, as husbands go,
to little Marie, which is more than I'll ever be to this other one.
Ah, well ! Sic transit^ and all the rest of it ! — here goes ! "

He replaced the vignette, added the last letter to the others,
did them up neatly in a sheet of white paper, sealed the pack-
age with red wax, and wrote the address in a firm, clear hand :

*• Mile. Marie De Lansac,

"Ruede ,

** New Orleans, Louisiana."

" I'll mail this to-morrow," Mr. Dantree said, putting it in the
pocket of his overcoat ; " and now I'll seek my balmy couch
and woo the god of slumber. I dare say it will be as successful
as the rest of my wooing."

Mr. Dantree undressed himself leisurely, as he did all things,

THE THIRD WARNING.

and went to bed. But sleep did not come all at once ; he lay-
awake, watching the leaping firelight flickering on the wall, and
thinking.

" What if, after all now, something were to happen, and I were
to be dished again, as I was in the New Orleans affair ? " he
thought. " By George ! it was enough to make a man cut his
own throat, or — old De Lansac's. A million dollars to a dead
certainty, — Marie sole heiress, Marie dying for me. And then
he must go and get married — confound him ! I can't think Sir
John Dangerfield is dotard enough for that^ but still delays are
dangerous. I'll strike while the iron's hot. I'll make Katherine
name the day, to-morrow, by Jove. Once my wife, and I'm
safe. Nothing can happen then, unless — unless — Heavens and
earth ! — unless Marie should appear upon the scene, as they
do on the stage, and denounce me ! "

And then Mr. Dantree paused aghast, and stared blankly at
the fire.

" It's not in the least likely though," he continued. Marie
is not that sort of woman. I beheve, by George ! if she met
me a week after she gets the letters back she would look me
straight between the eyes and cut me dead. No — Marie never
will speak — she could go to the scaffold with her head up and
her big blue eyes flashing defiance, and it's a very lucky thing for
me she's that sort. Still it will be a confoundedly ugly thing if
she ever hears of me again either as Sir Dantree Dangerfield or
the heiress of Scars wood's fiance. She might speak to save
Katherine. But no ; " and then Mr. Dantree turned over with
a yawn at last on his pillow, " who ever heard of one woman
saving another. Men do, but women — never ! I'll have the
wedding day fixed to-morrow, and it shall be speedily."

CHAPTER IX.

THE THIRD WARNING.

'HE rain passed with the night, and a slight frost set in
with the new day. Mr. Dantree was due at a hunting
party at Langton Brake, to be followed by a ball at
Langton Royals. He would meet Miss Dangerfield
on his way to cover, and she should fix their wedding day.

THE THIRD WARNING.

"A southerly wind and a cloudy sky proclaim it a hunting
morning," Mr. Dantree hummed. '^Before I am three hours
older I shall put my fate to the touch, 'to win or lose it all.' I
wonder if a baronet's daughter could get up her trousseau in
three months? She won't object to naming an early day, /
know : she's in love with me beyond all redemption, and I'm
in love with her — eight thousand a year."

Mr. Dantree breakfasted, mounted " a red roan steed," and
looking unspeakably well in his very becoming hunting cos-
tume, set off for the meet at Langton Brake.

The baronet's daughter was there before him, surrounded by
half a dozen red-coats, sitting a powerful-looking black horse
as though it had been an easy chair, and looking, as she always
did on horseback, her best. But while she talked and laughed
with her attendant cavaliers, her gaze kept ever impatiently turn-
ing in one direction, and as Gaston Dantree galloped up, a light
flash of glad welcome lit the clear eyes.

Late, Gaston ; late again. I wonder if you ever were or
will be in time for anything in your life. Any man who would
prove himself a laggard on such a glorious morning deserves —
what does he deserve. Captain De Vere ? "

"The loss of Miss Dangerfield's favor, the heaviest loss I
know of. A laggard in the hunting field Mr. Dantree may be,
but he certainly has proven himself anything but a laggard in
love."

And bowing low after this small stab, and with a sarcastic
curl of his tawny-mustached mouth, the captain of the Plungers
rode away. He held the handsome, silver-voiced, oily-tongued
Southerner in contempt and aversion — most men did — without
exactly knowing why. There are men whom men like, and
men whom women like, and Mr. Dantree, happily for himself,
was one of the latter.

A loud cry of " there they come " proclaimed the arrival of
the hounds. The huntsman as he passed cast surly glances to-
ward Miss Dangerfield and one or two other mounted ladies,
with prophetic visions of their heading the fox, and being in the
way. The hounds were put into the gorse, and the pink coats
began to move out of the field into the lane — Miss Dangerfield
and her dark lover with them.

A loud " Hallo " rang shrilly out, the hounds came with a
rushing roar over a fence. " There he is ! " cried a score of
voices, as the fox flew over the ground, and with a ringing
shout Katherine Dangerfield flew along on black Ilderim, steady

THE THIRD WARNING.

as a rock and upright as a dart. Her brilliant eyes were flash-
ing now with the hunter's fire — even Gaston Dantree was for-
gotten. The roan flew along helter-skelter beside Ilderim for
a few minutes, then fell hopelessly behind. Mr. Dantree counted
neither courage nor horsemanship among his many virtues. On
and on like the wind — Ilderim flew the fences — with a tremen-
dous rush he leaped chasms and hedges, his dauntless rider tak-
ing everything before her. The master of the hounds himself
looked at her in a glow of admiration — the black Arab flew
over everything, scorning to turn to the right or left, and after
a brilliant burst of over aji liour, the heiress of Scarswood had
the triumph and delight of being one of the fortunate few in at
the finish — in time to see the dead fox held over the huntsman's
head with the hounds hanging expectant around. She laughed
— eyes and teeth flashing dazzhngly — as she received the brush
from the huntsman, and the innumerable compliments from the
gentlemen who crowded around the heroine of the hour.

"Yes," she said, "I can ride — about the only thing I can do.
No, Mr. Dantree, I do not want a compliment from you, and I
can't pay one either. Your roan balked shamefully, and you are
the last man in. But to be late, as I said before, on all occasions,
is your normal state."

" Being first in your regards I can bear the rest with philoso-
phy. Miss Dangerfield. Fall back from those people, and rein
in that black whirlwind of yours, and ride back to Langton
Royals with me."

She looked at him quickly — some tone in his voice, some
look in his eyes startled her.

" Gaston, something has happened ! "

" Yes — nothing to be alarmed about, however. Only this —
I must go back to New Orleans."
" Gaston ! "

It was a sort of dismayed cry. If he had ever doubted his
power over her he would have been reassured now. The glad
light died out of her face as she turned to him.

" Go back to New Orleans ! Why should you go back ? I
tliought —

" You thought I was never to go back any more. You thought
this sort of pleasant existence — driving, hunting, singing, and
being happy — taking no thought, like lilies of the field, etc.,
was to go on forever. My dear little simple Kathie ! you seem
to forget that though _y^7z/ are born to the purple, I am not. You
forget that men must work and women must weep. You for-

THE THIRD WARNING.

get that you are engaged to a poor beggar, who earns his bread
by the sweat of his brow or his brains. You forget in short that
I am not the heiress of Scarswood, with eight thousand per
annum, or Captain De Vere, next heir to a peerage, but Gaston
Dan tree, Bohemian, Uterary hack — only too thankful if his
flimsies for the New Orleans journals pay for the coat he wears
and the bed he sleeps on. You forget that, my dear, impetu-
ous little girl, but, by Jove, I don't ! "

" And what's all that got to do with it ? Why can't things go
on as they are ? Why can't you stop at Morecambe until — "
Miss Dangerfield stopped abruptly.

" Until our wedding day — is that what you mean, Kathie ?
Ah ! but you see that seems such a very indefinite period.
Mr. Talbot was kind enough to invite me to run down to his
place in Sussex for a week's August fishing, and I was to repay
his hospitality by singing songs. August has passed, Octo-
ber is here, and — so am I still. And, unfortunately, singing
is such an unsubstantial mode of payment, even the finest
tenor voice is apt to pall upon a Sussex Squire, after three
months' incessant listening to it. I had a letter last night
from New Orleans — not a pleasant letter — and it comes to one
of two things now, either to go back to Louisiana and resume
my quill driving, or — " Mr. Dantree paused and looked at her
— "^r," he repeated with that smile of his, the baronet's roman-
tic daughter thought the most beautiful on earth — " or Kathie."

" Yes, Gaston ? "

*' Or you must marry me out of hand. Do you hear, Kathie ?
— take me for better or worse, and support me afterward.
That's what it comes to in plain English. One may be in love
ever so deeply, but one must have three meals per diem and
pay the tailor and boot-maker. I have just money enough to
last precisely two months and a half — I've been totting it up.
After that the work-house stares me in the face. I'll defy the
minions of the newspaper, Kathie, if you say so, and I'll go to
the Castleford Arms and wait until the happy day comes, that
makes you all my own. If not — why then — " Mr. Dantree
paused and produced his cigar-case. " You'll permit me, I
know, Kathie ? You're awfully sensible on the subject of
cigars, and I've been thinking so deeply ever since I got that
confounded letter, that my brain — such as it is — is dazed. I
need a smoke to support me under all this."

Then there was silence, while they rode on slowly in the
rear of the hunting party — Mr. Dantree philosophically puffing

THE THIRD WARNING,

his cigar, and Katherine, her cheeks flushed with very un-
wonted color, and hps sealed with still more unwonted silence.

" Well," he said, as the turrets and peaked gables of Langton
Royals bore in sight, ^'I don't want to be importunate, my
dear, but suspense isn't a pleasant thing. When a man is
under sentence, the sooner he hears his doom and knows the
worst, the better. Am I to go to New Orleans, to risk all that
may come to part us forever, or am I to — "

"Stay, Gaston!"

Mr. Dantree drew a long breath of great rehef. For one mo-
ment he had doubted — for one agonizing moment the eight thou-
sand a year seemed trembling in the balance.

"My loyal little girl ! I shall thank you for this when two
score people are not looking on. I am to stay and send the
New Orleans editors an diable, and the wedding day will be —
when, Kathie? My princely fortune will keep nje about two
months, and allow me a new suit of clothes, I suppose, to be
made happy in. When, Kathie — when — when — when ? "

" Gaston, I don't know. It is so horribly sudden. Good
Heavens ! only two months! One can't prepare."

"Oh yes, one can. Import the trousseau from London or
Paris. They'll send you on the thousand and one things brides
seem to require in a week. Be rational, Kathie ; that objec-
tion is. overruled. Name the next.'^

" It is easily named. Papa will never consent."

" Ah, now you have come to the hitch in the matter. I think
it very Hkely the ancient warrior may put in his veto. But it
is for you to overrule that. You're not the bright, clever little
darling I give you credit for if you can' t do it easily. In the
bright lexicon of youth, you know, there's no such word as fail.
You can do it, and you've got to do it yourself, by Jove ! I
faced the music once, and I'd rather keep my countenance
averted from the melody for the future. He does the heavy
father to perfection, and I never had a taste for private theatricals.
Suppose I spare your blushes, and fix the day myself? Sup-
pose I select New Year's eve? We couldn't wind up the old
year in a jollier manner than by being married, and enjoying
ourselves in Paris for the rest of the winter. Come, now, my
darling, don't object. Bring the noble baronet round to reason,
and make your Gaston the happiest man on this reeling globe
on New Year's eve. Quick — oh, hang him! Here comes
De Vere. Quick, Kathie : yes or no ? "

"Yes."

THE THIRD WARNING.

She just had time to flutter forth that one little word, when
the captain of the Plungers Purple rode up on his gray charger
to solicit the second waltz at the ball that night.

" I used to write my name first on your list, Miss Danger-
field," the captain said, plaintively, *'but all that's over now,"
with a glance at Dantree ; " and I must be resigned to my fate
of second fiddle. 'Twas ever thus, etc. I trust hunting in this
damp air has not impaired your voice for * The Wine Cup is
Sparkling,' Mr. Dantree ? "

They rode on to Langton Royals together — Katherine unu-
sually silent. She glanced furtively now and then at her two
cavaliers. How much the handsomer her lover was. Such
easy, negligent grace of manner ; how well he talked ; how
well he sang ; what a paragon he was among men. What a
contrast Randolf Cromie Algernon De Vere, riding beside him,
was, with his heavy, florid, British complexion, his ginger
whiskers, his sleepy, blue eyes, and his English army drawl.
He was the son of a dead peer, and the brother of a live one ;
but his nose was a pug, and his hands and feet were large, and
he had never thought, or said, or done a clever thing in his life.

*'And papa wanted me to marry /z/w.^" Miss Dangerfield
thought, with unutterable contempt ; " after seeing Gaston, too !
How impatient he is to have our wedding day fixed — how he
seems to dread losing me. And people call him mercenary
and a fortune-hunter. I shall speak to papa to-morrow, and
he shall consent."

The hunting party dined at Langton Royals. Miss Danger-
field's French maid had come over from Scarswood with her
young lady's ball toilet, and when Mr. Dantree entered the
brilliantly lighted ball-room and took a critical survey of his
affianced wife, he was forced to confess that great happiness
made the dark, sallow heiress of Scarswood very nearly hand-
some. She wore — was she not a heroine and a bride elect ? —
a floating filmy robe of misty white, a crown of dark-green ivy
leaves on her bright chestnut floating hair — all atwinkle with dia-
mond dewdrops — her white shoulders rose exquisitely out of the
foamy lace — her great, brilliant eyes had a streaming light, a
faint flush kindled her dusk cheeks.

" Have you noticed the little Dangerfield, Talbot ? " Cap-
tain De Vere remarked to his friend, the Squire of Morecambe.
"She's in great feather to-night, growing positively good-look-
ing, you know. See how she smiles on that shrewd little fellow,
Dantree. Why can't we all be born with Grecian profiles and

THE THIRD WARNING,

tenor voices? Seems a pity too she should be thrown away
on a cad like that — such a trump of a girl as she is, and such a
waltzer. Look at her now floating away with him. Clearest
case of spoons I ever saw in my life."

Captain De Vere leaned against a pillar, pulled his leonine
mustache, and watched Miss Dangerfield and her lover circling
down the long room with gloomy eyes. It would have been
contrary to all the principles of his life to fall in love — it was
the proud boast of the Plungers that they never were guilty of
that weakness, but still — oh, hang it all! Why couldn't that
fellow keep his confoundedly handsome face and diabolically
musical voice for transatlantic heiresses, and not come poach-
ing on British manors? Why couldn't he marry a Yankee
wife, who talked through her nose, and whose father had
amassed a fortune selHng groceries, and not mix the best blood
in Sussex with the plebeian puddle in his veins? Why
couldn't she keep true to her order? why didn't Sir John
kick the fellow downstairs when he had the audacity to demand
his daughter's hand ? Sir John, the proudest old martinet in the
army. A fine precedent to be set to the daughters of the
county gentry — the son of a Yankee butcher or blacksmith
lording it in Scarswood and taking his place among the patri-
cians of Sussex, with the best blood in England in their veins,
and an ancestry that ran back to the conquest and Norman
William.

"And the cad's a scoundrel, besides," the captain thought,
glowering with human ferocity ; " vain as a woman of his pretty
face and voice, with no more affection for that sentimen-
tal, hero-worshiping little girl of seventeen than / have — not
half so much, by George ! She'll marry him and come to grief
— the worst sort — mark my words ! "

The first waltz ended, the captain's turn came. The unusual
exertion of thinking had fatigued the young officer's intellect;
the physical exertion of waltzing with Miss Dangerfield would
counteract it. And Miss Dangerfield was such a capital dancer,
such a jolly little girl every way you took her ! How she
laughed, how she talked, what a clear, sweet, fresh, young
voice she had, how bright were her eyes, how luxurious her
brown, waving hair, — not pretty, you know, like half the other
girls in the room, with wax-work faces and china-blue eyes, but
twice as attractive as the prettiest of them — one of those girls
whom men look after on the street, and ask their names — ■
a siren with a sallow complexion and eyes of starry luster.
5

THE THIRD WARNING.

She just had time to flutter forth that one little word, when
the captain of the Plungers Purple rode up on his gray charger
to solicit the second waltz at the ball that night.

" I used to write my name first on your list, Miss Danger-
field," the captain said, plaintively, "but all that's over now,"
with a glance at Dantree ; " and I must be resigned to my fate
of second fiddle. 'Twas ever thus, etc. I trust hunting in this
damp air has not impaired your voice for ' The Wine Cup is
Sparkling,' Mr. Dantree ? "

They rode on to Langton Royals together — Katherine unu-
sually silent. She glanced furtively now and then at her two
cavaliers. How much the handsomer her lover was. Such
easy, negligent grace of manner \ how well he talked ; how
well he sang ; what a paragon he was among men. What a
contrast Randolf Cromie Algernon De Vere, riding beside him,
was, with his heavy, florid, British complexion, his ginger
whiskers, his sleepy, blue eyes, and his English army drawl.
He was the son of a dead peer, and the brother of a live one ;
but his nose was a pug, and his hands and feet were large, and
he had never thought, or said, or done a clever thing in his life.

"And papa wanted me to marry /^^>;^ " Miss Dangerfield
thought, with unutterable contempt ; " after seeing Gaston, too !
How impatient he is to have our wedding day fixed — how he
seems to dread losing me. And people call him mercenary
and a fortune-hunter. I shall speak to papa to-morrow, and
he shall consent."

The hunting party dined at Langton Royals. Miss Danger-
field's French maid had come over from Scarswood with her
young lady's ball toilet, and when Mr. Dantree entered the
brilliantly lighted ball-room and took a critical survey of his
affianced wife, he was forced to confess that great happiness
made the dark, sallow heiress of Scarswood very nearly hand-
some. She wore — was she not a heroine and a bride elect ? —
a floating filmy robe of misty white, a crown of dark-green ivy
leaves on her bright chestnut floating hair— all atwinkle with dia-
mond dewdrops — her white shoulders rose exquisitely out of the
foamy lace — her great, brilliant eyes had a streaming light, a
faint flush kindled her dusk cheeks.

"Have you noticed the little Dangerfield, Talbot?" Cap-
tain De Vere remarked to his friend, the Squire of Morecambe.
" She's in great feather to-night, growing positively good-look-
ing, you know. See how she smiles on that shrewd little fellow,
Dantree. Why can't we all be born with Grecian profiles and

THE THIRD WARNING.

tenor voices ? Seems a pity too she should be thrown away
on a cad like that — such a trump of a girl as she is, and such a
waltzer. Look at her now floating away with him. Clearest
case of spoons I ever saw in my life."

Captain De Vere leaned against a pillar, pulled his leonine
mustache, and watched Miss Dangerfield and her lover circling
down the long room with gloomy eyes. It would have been
contrary to all the principles of his life to fall in love — it was
the proud boast of the Plungers that they never were guilty of
that weakness, but still — oh, hang it all! Why couldn't that
fellow keep his confoundedly handsome face and diabolically
musical voice for transatlantic heiresses, and not come poach-
ing on British manors? Why couldn't he marry a Yankee
wife, who talked through her nose, and whose father had
amassed a fortune selling groceries, and not mix the best blood
in Sussex with the plebeian puddle in his veins? Why
couldn't she keep true to her order? why didn't Sir John
kick the fellow downstairs when he had the audacity to demand
his daughter's hand ? Sir John, the proudest old martinet in the
army. A fine precedent to be set to the daughters of the
county gentry — the son of a Yankee butcher or blacksmith
lording it in Scarswood and taking his place among the patri-
cians of Sussex, with the best blood in England in their veins,
and an ancestry that ran back to the conquest and Norman
William.

The first waltz ended, the captain's turn came. The unusual
exertion of thinking had fatigued the young officer's intellect;
the physical exertion of waltzing with Miss Dangerfield would
counteract it. And Miss Dangerfield was such a capital dancer,
such a jolly little girl every way you took her ! How she
laughed, how she talked, what a clear, sweet, fresh, young
voice she had, how bright were her eyes, how luxurious her
brown, waving hair, — not pretty, you know, like half the other
girls in the room, with wax-work faces and china-blue eyes, but
twice as attractive as the prettiest of them — one of those girls
whom men look after on the street, and ask their names — •
a siren with a sallow complexion and eyes of starry luster.
5

THE THIRD WARNING,

" She's got brains, and the rest have beauty — I suppose
that's about it — and beauty and brains never travel in company.
She is far the cleverest little girl of my acquaintance, and, if
you notice, it's always your clever women who marry good-
looking fools. Egad ! I wish I had proposed for her myself
Marriage is an institution I'm opposed to on principle.
* Britons never shall be slaves,' and so forth — and what's your
married man but the most abject of slaves ? I believe I've been
in love with her all along and never knew it. ' How blessings
brighten as they take their flight ! ' When I could have had
her I didn't want her ; when I can't have her, I do."

^' Oh ! " Katherine sighed, in ecstasy, " that was a delicious
waltz ! I was born to be a ballet-dancer, I believe — I could
keep on forever. Captain De Vere, you're the first heavy
dragoon I ever knew who didn't disgrace himself and his part-
ner when he attempted round dances. Is that Mr. Dantree
singing in the music-room ? Yes, it is ; and you have a soul
attuned to the magic of sweet sounds — don't say no ; I'm sure
you have — so have I ; come ! "

Yes, Mr. Dantree was singing ; that is what he was there
for ; his voice for the past ten years had been the open
sesame that threw wide the most aristocratic portals, where else
he had never set foot. A little group of music lovers were around
him, drinking in the melody of that most charming voice. Mr.
Dantree was in his element — he always was when surrounded
by an admiring crowd. This song was a Tyrolean warble, and
the singer looked more like an angel than ever, in a white
waistcoat and tail coat.

"May Old Nick fly away with him !" growled Captain De
Vere, inwardly, " and his classic countenance, and Mario voice !
What a blessing to society if he became a victim to small-pox
and chronic bronchitis ! It's no wonder, after all, that little
Kathie, a beauty-worshiper by nature, is infatuated. Well, my
man, what is it "

For a six-foot specter, in plush and knee-breeches, had
appeared suddenly, and stood bowing before them.

" I beg your pardon, capting — it's Miss Dangerfield's maid
as wishes to speak to Miss Dangerfield for a hinstant, hif
hagreeable."

" Ninon ! " said Katherine — " what does she want ? — where
is she ? Oh, I see her ! Excuse me a moment, Captain De
Vere."

THE THIRD WARNING.

The French maid was standing just outside the door of the
music room, holding a small white parcel in her hand.

Well, child," her mistress said, impatiently — the little French
girl was five years her senior — " what do you want ? "

"It's this packet, mademoiselle; John Thomas found it on
the floor of the gentleman's cloak room, and he thinks it be-
longs to Mr. Dantree."

" Indeed ! And why does John Thomas think so ? "

"Because, mademoiselle, it is addressed to New Orleans.
Will mademoiselle please to take it and look ? "

Katherine took the little white package and looked at the
address. Yes, beyond doubt, it was Gaston's hand.

" Mile. Marie De Lansac,

"Ruede ,

"New Orleans."

There was a moment's pause. The girl stood expectant — -
the young lady stood holding the package in her hand, looking
strangely at the address. It was Gaston's writing, no doubt
at all about that ; and who was " Mile. Marie De Lansac," of
New Orleans, and what did this package contain Letters,
surely — and this hard, cardlike substance, a photograph no
doubt. Mr. Dantree had told her his whole history as she sup-
posed, but no chapter headed "Marie De Lansac" had ap-
peared. And as Katherine stood and looked, her lips set them-
selves in a rigid line, and a light not usually there, nor pleas-
ant to see, came into her gray eyes — the green light of jealousy.

" This package belongs to Mr. Dantree, Ninon ; John Thomas
was quite right. Here, tell him to — or no," abruptly, ^' I'll
give it to Mr. Dantree myself"

The package was small, her hand closed firmly over it, as
she walked back to the music room. Mr. Dantree had just
finished his Tyrolean chorus, and was smiling and graciously
receiving compliments. He made his way to Katherine' s side
and drew her hand within his arm, as one who had the right.

"My dear child," he said, "what has happened now?
why, oh why, that face of owl-like solemnity ! What's gone
wrong ? "

The large, crystal-clear, honest gray eyes were fixed on his
face, keenly.

"Yes, my love," he said, " what is it?"

"Gaston !" abruptly and with energy, "did you ever tell a
lie?"

lOO

THE THIRD WARNING.

"Hundreds, my darling," responded Mr. Dantree, with
promptitude ; "thousands, millions, and likely to do so again.
What an absurd question ! Did I ever tell a lie ? It sounds
like the catechism. As if any man or woman lived who didiit
tell lies ! "

"Speak for yourself," the girl said, coldly ; "/ don't and I
can't conceive of any man or woman of honor doing so. You
see Captain De Vere there?"

" I'm thankful to say I do not at this moment — military
puppy ! "

" Military puppy he may be — falsehood-teller, I know he is
not ; he is incapable of falsehood, dishonor, or deceit."

" Like the hero of a woman's novel, in short," sneered Gas-
ton Dantree, " without fear and without reproach. My dear
child, men and women who never tell lies exist in books 'written
with a purpose,' and nowhere else. But what are you driving
at, my severe little counsel for the prosecution ? Let's have it
without further preface."

" You shall, Mr. Dantree. Who is Marie De Lansac ? "

Mr. Dantree was past-master of the polite art of dissimula-
tion ; no young duke born to the strawberry-leaf coronet could
be more ViXidSi^oX^^y 7ionchalant than he. His handsome olive
face was a mask that never betrayed him. And now, with a
start so slight as to be scarcely perceptible, with so faint a pal-
ing of the dark face that she failed to see it, he turned to her,
calm and cool as ever.

" Marie De Lansac Well, I know a young lady of that
name in New Orleans. Who is she, you ask ? She's grand-
daughter of a French gentleman of that city, and I gave her
singing lessons once upon a time. My dear little Kathie, don't
annihilate me with those flashing gray eyes of yours. There
isn't any harm in that, is there ? There's no need of the green-
eyed mopister showing his obnoxious claws."

He met her suspicious gaze full, and discovered for the first
time what an intensely proud and jealous nature he had to deal
with. He was chill with undefined fear, but he smiled down
in her face now with eyes as clear and innocent as the eyes of
a child.

" Is this all ? " she asked, slowly ; " or is it only one of the
many lies you find it so necessary to tell ? "

'* On my honor, no ; it is the truth ; as if I could speak any-
thing else to you. But how, in Heaven's name, Kathie, did
you ever hear of Marie De Lansac ? "

THE THIRD WARNING. loi

She did not reply; she still held the package; she still looked
at him distrustfully.

"You gave her singing lessons, this Miss De Lansac?"
slowly. " She is young, I suppose ? "
She is."

" Handsome, no doubt ? "

"Well, yes, she is handsome — not the style / admire,
though."

" Never mind your style — you admire nothing but plain
young women with sallow skins and irregular features — that is
understood. Mr. Dantree, do you correspond with this young
lady?"

" Certainly not. Katherine, v^^hat do you mean ?"

The careless look had left his face, the pallor had deepened.
Who had been talking to her — what had she found out ? Good
Heavens ! to have eight thousand a year quivering in the bal-
ance like this.

" What I mean is this, Mr. Dantree. This is your writing,
I believe, and 1 infer you are returning Miss De Lansac' s let-
ters and picture. This packet fell out of your coat-pocket in
the cloak-room. You never corresponded with Miss De Lan-
sac— you only gave her singing lessons ? That will do, Mr.
Dantree — don't tell any more falsehoods than you can help."

She placed the packet in his hand. He had never thought
of that. His face changed as she looked at him for a moment.
In spite of the admirable training of his life he stood before her
dumb — condemned out of his own mouth.

The steady, strong gray eyes never left his face— her own
was quite colorless now.

" Not one word," she said, in a sort of whisper ; " and look
at him. It is true, then — all they have said. He is false —
false!"

" I am not false ! " Mr. Dantree retorted, angrily. " Don't
be so ready to condemn unheard. If you will do me the honor
to listen, I can explain."

She laughed contemptuously.

" Not a doubt of it, Mr. Dantree ! You could explain black
was white if one listened to you long enough. I'm afraid I
have listened to you too long already. How many of the mil-
lion lies you are in the habit of telling have you told me ? "

" Not one — not the shadow of one ! For shame, Kathe-
rine ! to taunt me with idle words spoken in jest. I have told
you the truth concerning Miss De Lansac — the simple truth —

102

THE THIRD WARNING,

10 far as I am concerned. I gave her music lessons — I never
cared for her — no, Katherine, not one jot — but she-r-that is —
she — oh, it is quite impossible to explain ! "

" She fell in love with you ! is that what your modesty will
not permit you to say, Mr. Dantree ? She fell in love — this
poor Miss De Lansac — with her handsome singing-master,
whether he would or no ?"

" Yes, then ! " Gaston Dantree said, folding his arms and
looking at her with sulky defiance, " since you make me say it.
Think me a coxcomb, a puppy, if you will, but she did fall in
love with me, and she did write to me, since I left New Orleans.
I never answered those letters. I told you the truth when I
said I did not correspond with her. Last night I came across
them by chance, and as your plighted husband I felt I had no
right even to keep them longer. I made them up as you see,
to return to her, feeling sure that after that, she would never
address me again. I never told you of her — why should I ?
She was simply nothing to me, and to tell you that a young lady
of New Orleans took a fancy to me, and wrote me letters,
would not be very creditable to me'^

And then Mr. Dantree paused — still standing with folded
arms — posing beautifully for a model of wounded pride.

She drew a long breath.

"And this is all?" she said, slowly.

"All, Miss Dangerfield — on my sacred honor !"

" If I could only think so ! If I only dared believe you ! "

" You are complimentary, Katherine ! When you doubt my
word like this it is high time for us to part."

He knew her well — how to stab most surely.

" Part ! " her sensitive lips quivered. " How lightly he talks
of parting ! Gaston ! you see — I love you wholly — I trust you
entirely. You are so dear to me, that the bare thought of any
other having a claim on you, be it ever so light, is unendurable.
Will you swear to me that this is true ? "

He lifted his arm — it gave the oath proper stage effect.

" By all I hold sacred, I swear it, Katherine !"

It was not a very binding oath — there was nothing on the
earth below, or the sky above, that Mr. Gaston Dantree held
sacred. But it is easy to believe what we most want to believe.
As the old Latin saw has it, " The quarreling of lovers was the
renewing of love." Mr. Dantree and Miss Dangerfield kept
devotedly together for the rest of the night, and peace smiled
again, but the " cloud no bigger than a man's hand" had risen,

THE THIRD WARNING.

that was speedily to darken all the sky. Katherine's perfect
trust was gone — gone forever. Had he told her the truth, or
was it all a tissue of falsehoods ? Had another woman a claim
upon him, and was it her fortune he loved, as everybody said —
not herself?"

And, powers above ! " thought Mr. Dantree ; " what am I
to do with a jealous, exacting wife ? What a savage look there
was in her eyes for one moment ; the Dangerfields were ever
a bitter, bad race. A game where two women claim one
man must be a losing game for the man in the end. I begin
to see that."

At five in the morning the ball at Langton Royals broke up.
Miss Dangerfield was driven home through the cold blackness
that precedes the dawn, shivering in her furred wraps. She
toiled slowly and wearily upstairs. She had danced a great
deal, and was tired to death. She had been in wild spirits
the first half the night, now the reaction had come, and she
looked haggard and hollow-eyed, as she ascended to her
room.

It was all bright in that sanctuary of maidenhood. A genial
fire bla.zed on the hearth, her little, white bed, with its lace and
silken draperies and plump, white pillows looked temptingly
cosey. A softly cushioned sleepy hollow of an easy chair was
drawn up before the fire. Katherine flung herself into it with
a tired sigh.

" It is good to be home," she said. Take off these tire-
some things, Ninon — quick — and go."

The deft-fingered French girl obeyed. The floating, brown
hair was brushed and bound for the pillow, the lace and tulle,
the silk and diamond sprays were removed, and her night-robe
donned, and Katherine thrust her feet in slippers, and drew her
chair closer to the fire.

"Anything more, mademoiselle ?"

" Nothing, Ninon ; you may go."

The maid went, and the heiress was alone. She felt tired and
sleepy and out of sorts, but still she did not go to bed. She lay
back in her chair and listened to the bleak morning wind howl-
ing through the trees of the park, with closed, tired eyes.

Marie De Lansac ! Marie De Lansac ! " She seemed to
hear that name in the wailing of the wind, in the ticking of the
Httle Swiss clock, in the light fall of the cinders, and, with it
ringing still in her ears, she dropped asleep.

And, sleeping, she dreamed. She was floating somewhere

I04

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

down a warm, golden river, overhead a sunlit, rosy sky, all the
air quivering with music. And as she floated on and on in a
delicious trance she saw the golden sky blacken, she heard the
winds rise, and the river darken and heave. The music changed
to the wild song of a siren, luring her on to the black depths
below. Down, down she felt herself sinking, the cold waters
closing over her head. She looked up in her death agony,
and saw her lover standing safe on the shore and smiling at
her throes. She stretched out her arms to him.

Help, Gaston, help ! " she strove to cry, but the rising
waters drowned her voice, and the shrill wind bore them away.
The siren song grew louder. She could hear the words, False
as fair ! false as fair ! " And still the waters rose. The white
arms wreathed round her lover— standing smiling there — a
beautiful, deriding face mocked her over his shoulder.

I am Marie De Lansac," said the taunting voice, ''and he
is mine."

Then the bitter waters of death closed over her head, and
with a gasping cry she started up awake — the fatal words yet
ringing in her ears, '' False as fair ! false as fair ! "

The chill, gray light of the October dawn filled the room,
the fire had died out black on the hearth, and she was cramped
and cold. Even in her dreams that warning came to her !
She drew out her watch and looked at the hour. Only seven,
but Katherine Dangerfield slept no more.

CHAPTER X.

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

ARRIED on New Year's Eve ! Married on New
Year's Eve, Katherine ! Do I hear you aright ? Is
it possible you really mean this ? "

Sir John Dangerfield, seated in dressing-gown and
slippers before the study fire, laid down his Times, and
blankly asked this question. His daughter stood behind his
chair, keeping her face steadily averted.

" Let me look at you, child — come here. Let me see if
this is my little Kathie who sang her doll to sleep yesterday.

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

105

and who comes to ine now and asks to be married on New
Year's Day. Ah, you cannot — you do not mean it after all."

''Papa, I do," Katherine cried, desperately, feeling again
what a cruel thing it had been of Gaston to subject her to this
ordeal; "at least I don't, but he — that is — oh, papa, I have
explained already."

" You have repeated Mr. Gaston Dantree's plausible pre-
texts, of which I don't believe one word. He dared not
face me again ; he ordered you to come to me and obtain
my consent to your marriage on New Year's Eve. Coward !
craven coward ! "

" Papa, don't. You misjudge him — he is no coward — even
you have no right to call him so. Oh, papa, how can you
be so unkind to him, to me. You were so harsh to him
when he spoke to you before, and you knew he would not,
could not retort in kind. You wouldn't like it yourself — to
sit still and be abused. You must not call Gaston such hard
names. Even from you I cannot bear it."

But in the depths of her heart, even while she fought des-
perately for her absent lover, she felt it to be true. He was a
coward.

"Hear her," the baronet said, with suppressed intensity;
" hear her take his part against me — this man whom she has
not known two months. Well, well, it is the reward the old
always receive from the young."

Two white arms clasped his neck, two impetuous lips stooped
down and kissed him.

" Papa, darling, is it generous of you to say this ? You
know I love you dearly, dearly ; but, papa, I love him too.
I can't help it ; I don't know why ; I only know I do with all
my heart."

He looked at her tenderly — the hard bitterness of his mouth
relaxing into a smile, half-sad, half-cynical.

" My little one," he said, " ray little one, you don't know
why. Shall I tell you ? A little for his dark eyes, a little for
his silken hair, a little for his seductive voice and sugary words,
and a great deal — oh, my romantic Kathie — for your own
poetical imagination. If you saw Gaston Dantree below the
surface for an hour you would scorn him your life long. But
you take this good-looking Lousianian at his own valuation,
and invest him with a halo of nobility all your own, and set
hiui up and worship him. My daughter, take care, take care.
Your god will crumble to clay before your eyes ; and what is
5*

io6

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

left then ? Believe me, little Kathie. tbere is more needed to
make a wife happy than long lashes and a musical voice."

Katherine looked up and met her father's eyes full for the
first time, her lips compressed into a resolute line. An hour
ago she had seemed to him a wayward little girl — ^he knew now,
for the first time, he had a woman to deal with — a woman in
love, and resolute to have her way.

''You treat me as though I were ten years old and asking a
new plaything. Papa, I love Gaston, he wants me to be his
wife, and I have promised. A promise given should be a
promise kept. I will marry him, or go to my grave unmar-
ried."

" Then Heaven help you ! My years on earth will not be
many — don't interrupt me, Katherine; I know what I am
saying — and when I am gone, and you are left to that man's
mercy, I say again Heaven help you ! "

" He has given you no earthly reason to say it ! " Katherine
exclaimed, " and it is not like you to be unjust. It is a shame,
papa ! a shame ! You know nothing wrong of him~nothing.
Even the grim, pitiless English law takes the prisoner in the dock
to be innocent until he is proven guilty. You speak of him
as though he were a villain, double-dyed ! I repeat, it is a
shame to slander the absent in this way, and a soldier who has
fought for his country, as you have, ought to be the last to do
it. You wrote to New Orleans to find out his character — did
the answer justify such dark suspicions as these ?"

" The answer left me as much in the dark as ever. Mr.
Dan tree's character in New Orleans is simply nil — no one
knew anything much either to his credit or discredit. You
defend your lover stanchly, Katherine. I don't think the
worse of you for it, but it won't do. Even you, my child, elo-
quent as you are, with all your special pleading, cannot make
a hero of Gaston Dantree."

" I don't want to make a hero of him ; he suits me well
enough as he is. As he is, with all his faults, whatever they
mlJSfee, I am willing to take him — to hold to him all my life;
and be very sure, whatever that life may prove, no one alive
shall ever hear me complain of him."

"I believe you," her father said, quietly; ''you're not a
model young lady by any means, but you deserve a much
better husband than Gaston Dantree. Child ! child ! you are
hopelessly infatuated — I might as well talk to the trees waving
yonder outside the window as to a romantic girl in love. But

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

T07

think a moment — think how little you know of this man.
Who is to prove he hasn't a wife already out yonder in the
Southern States ? "

"Papa!" But there was a sharp, sudden pang in Jier
voice as she uttered the indignant cry. " Marie De Lansac / "
the name that had haunted her dream that morning came back.

" Ah ! Kathie, flying into a passion will not prove his worth.
I repeat, we know nothing of him — nothing but what he has
chosen to tell or invent. Do you really believe, my poor
Donna Quixote, that if some freak of fortune deprived you
to-morrow of Scarswood and its rent-roll, he would prove faith-
ful to the love he has vowed ? If you were penniless — as he is
— do you believe he would ever make you his wife ? "

She met his sad gaze, full ; but she was white to the lips.

" I believe it, papa. I know how I would act by him ;
poverty — disgrace even — would only make me cling the more
devotedly to him. I would take his part against all the world,
and why should I think him the less generous? Papa, it
may be your duty, but you torture me ! What is the use of say-
ing such things except to make me miserable ? "

But it was not her father's words that made her miserable —
it wasi the doubt in her own heart, the conviction that he
spoke the truth. Not all her insane infatuation could con-
vince her that this man was either loyal or true. She had been
brought up in a peculiar way enough, this impulsive Katherine,
and if there is any excuse to be made for her willful perversity,
it lies in that. Motherless at the age of three, left to a doting
father, spoiled by Indian nurses, indulged in every caprice,
she had grown up headstrong and full of faults.^ The Indian
colonel had taught her to scorn a lie as the base crime of a
coward ; and taught her to be as true as steel, loyal, generous,
and brave ; and she knew in her inmost heart that Gaston
Dantree was none of these things — was twice as unstable as
water. Only her girl's fancy had gone out to him, and it was
too late to recall tKe gift.

Her father drew her to him and kissed her. ^ggp^

" I will say no more — not one word ; and yet it is a cruel
kindness. Do you know what I should have done, Kathie,
when that fellow came here to ask your hand ? I should have
said, ' She is there ; take her if you will. She is quite ready
and capable of running away with you to-morrow, if you ask
her ; but as long as I live, not one farthing will she ever receive
from me — not though she were starving, I will never forgive

io8

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

her ; I will never see her. She is in love with you ; take her,
and when the honeymoon is over — starve ! I mean this, Mr.
Dantree, and we Dangerfields know how to keep our word.'
Kathie, he would never have set foot again within this house,
and you — you would hate your father. I don't think I could
bear that, and so, oh, child ! marry him, if you will, on New
Year's Eve — w^hat does a month more or less matter ? — and
may the good God keep you, and defend you from the fate of
a broken-hearted wife ! "

She made no reply ; her face was hidden on his shoulder.

" I fear for your future, my child ! — I fear ! I fear ! " the
old soldier said, with strange pathos — " I foresee more than I
dare tell. Kathie, listen ! . Do you" — his steady voice faltered
a little — " do you think you could bear to be poor ? "

"Poor, papa?" she lifted her head, and looked at him in
surprise.

"Yes, Katherine ; to be poor — not as we were poor in India,
with servants to wait upon us, and a colonel's pay to live on ;
but if I were to die, and it may be soon — child, be still — and
you. were left alone in the world, friendless and portionless, to
earn your own living as other girls do — do you think you could
bear that ? — to eat poor food ? to wear poor clothing ? to labor
for others ? — that is the sort of poverty I mean."

She gazed at him, lost in wonder.

" Poor, poor ! I, a baronet's daughter, the heiress of
Scarswood ! Papa," bursting into a laugh for the first time —
" what nonsense are you talking ? It is impossible for me to
be poor."

" But suppose it were not " — he spoke with feverish eagerness,
shifting away from the gaze of the bright, wondering eyes —
** suppose it were possible — suppose such a fate overtook you
— could you bear it ? "

"Sir John Dangerfield," the young lady responded, impa-
tiently, " I don't want to suppose it — I w.on't suppose such a
preposterous thing ! No, I couldn't bear it — there ! I would
rather die than be poor — living on crusts — wearing shabby
dresses — and working for insolent, purse-proud common rich
people. Papa, I would just quietly ghde out of life in a double
dose of morphine, and make an end of it all. But what's the
use of talking such rubbish? I'm Katherine Dangerfield,
heiress ; it is about as likely that I shall go up to the moon,
like Hans Pfaal, and live there away from everybody, as that I
shall ever turn shop-girl and poor,"

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

109

He set his lips hard beneath his iron-gray mustache, and his
soldier's training stood him in good stead now. Of the sharp
pain at his heart his face showed no sign.

''And you consent, papa — you dear, good-natured old
papa? " the girl said, her cheek close to his, her lips to his ear ;
" you do consent ! I am only seventeen, and silly, no doubt,
but let me be happy in my own way. I can't help liking Gas-
ton— I can't indeed — and I want to trust him — to believe in
him. You'll let me, won't you ? You won't say bitter, cynical
things any more. And you know you won't lose me, as you
would if I married any one else. You'll only gain a son in-
stead— and we'll all live together here, as the fairy tales say —
happy forever after.

He sighed resignedly, disengaged himself, and arose.

" ' When a woman will she will,' etc. Have your own way,
Katherine. Let the wedding be on New Year's Eve. I give
you carte blanche for the trousseau — order what you please. I
can say no more than that. I will make the best of a bad bar-
gain, since it is inevitable ; but I can't like him — I never can.
Marry him if you will, but I would almost sooner see you dead
than give your fate into his hands. Keep him away from me —
I had rather not meet him. And Katherine — " a pause.

"Well, papa," she spoke rather sadly. It seemed very hard
that the two beings on earth whom she loved best could like one
another no better than this. Her father was standing with his
back to her, looking out of the window at the beeches tossing
their striped branches in the high autumnal gale.

*' Yes, papa — what is it ? "

"Don't offend Mrs. Va;vasor." He spoke with an effort.
"You don't Hke her, and you take no pains to hide it. Kath-
erine, it won't do."

"Why not, papa? "

" I can't tell you why — only she is your guest ; as such she
should be treated with courtesy."

" Well, I do try to be courteous — that is, 1 try to endure her ;
but papa, she's simply unendurable ; it stifles me to live in the
house with her. I don't know why — I suppose we're antago-
nistic, as Gaston says, but my flesh creeps when she comes near
me, just as it does when I meet a toad. She's like a serpent,
papa — one of those deadly cobras we used to have out in India
— with her glittering eyes, and her sharp, hissing voice, and her
noiseless, gU ding walk. Why can't you give her all the money
she wants and pack her off about her business ? "

TIO

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

Because — well, because the world is civilized, and she is
our guest. Let us respect the sanctity of the bread and salt.
She has a hold upon me — I may admit that much — and it
places me in her power. If I or you offend her, Katherine, it
is in her power to injure us both more than I can say. It is
impossible to explain : I can only say for the present, treat her
civilly for my sake."

" I v/ill try. P'or your sake, papa, I would do anything."
Except give up Gaston Dantree I Well, well ! it is the
way of the world — the way of women — a very old way, too.
And now go — I think I'll settle my mind by reading the Times
after all this. Arrange everything— buy the wedding dresses,
let the wedding guests be bidden, and when the hour comes /
will be ready to give my daughter away to a man of whom I
know nothing. That will do, Kathie — I'd rather have no
thanks. Let the subject of Mr. Dantree be dropped between
us — it is a subject on which you and I can never agree,
though we talked to the crack of doom."

Katherine laid her hand on the handle of the door. There
was a swift swish of silk outside. She flung it wide. Had that
odious little wretch, Mrs. Vavasor, been listening? But the
passage was deserted, and a tall Indian cabinet hid the little
crouching figure completely.

Miss Dangerfield rode out under the open sky and sunny
downs with her affianced, and Mr. Dantree simply heard that
papa had consented that the marriage should take place upon
New Year's Eve — no more. But he could easily infer the rest
from Katherine' s clouded face.

"The sharp-sighted old baronet has been abusing me," re-
flected Mr. Dantree ; " he has taken my gauge pretty accurately
from the first. I wonder how it is, that my face, which makes
all women fall in love with me, makes all men distrust me ? Is
it that women as a rule are fools, and the other sex are no*" ?
What an awful mu.ddle I nearly made of it by carrying that
confounded packet of letters about. Katherine' s a prey to
the green-eyed monster already, and will be for the rest of her
life. I suppose it is in the eternal fitness of things, somehow,
that plain women should be always savagely jealous, espe-
cially when they have remarkably handsome husbands. Before
the year ends I will be the son-in-law of Scarswood Park, and
the husband of eight thousand a year ! Gaston Dantree, my
boy, you're a cleverer fellow than even I gave you credit for."

There was a dinner-party that evening at Scarswood, and Mr.

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

III

Dantree, with a fatuous smile, made known to all whom it might
concern that the happy day was near. Mrs. Vavasor's black
eyes sparkled with their snakiest light — the rustling silk twisted,
and twined, and gleamed about her in more serpentine coils
than ever. She flashed a glance across at Peter Dangerfield,
who sat, with spectacles over pale, near-sighted eyes, on the
opposite side. And Captain De Vere stroked again his big,
heavy, dragoon mustache, and shot sharp glances of suppressed
ferocity at the smiling bridegroom elect.

" Hang the beggar ! I'd like to throttle him, with his self-
satisfied grin and confident airs of proprietorship. I suppose
Sir John's falling into his dotage — I can't account for it in any
other way, poor little fool," with a look at Katherine ; "if he
treats her as I know he will treat her after marriage, I'll thrash
him within an inch of his life, 'fore George ! I wish I had
asked her myself."

The wedding day was announced, Katherine was congratu-
lated, and a little before midnight, with her lover's parting kiss
still on her lips, singing softly, she went up to her room. Draped
with rose-silk and laces, the carpet wreaths of rosebuds on
snow, puffy silken chairs, a Swiss musical-box playing tinkling
tunes, fire-light and waxlight gleaming over all — how pretty-
how pleasant it looked. And Katherine, in her dinner-dress of
rich mazarine blue, and sapphire ornaments set in fine gold,
sank down in the puffiest of the chairs with a tired sigh.

There came a soft tap at the door, not the tap of Ninon.
Katherine lifted her dreamy eyes from the fire.

" Come in," she said.

The door opened, and Mrs. Vavasor entered.

She too still wore her dinner-dress — the rich sea-green silk
glowed in the light far behind her. The diamonds that were not
from the Palais Royal flashed splendidly on neck, and arms,
and ears, and fingers. Her shining, luxuriant black hair floated
over her shoulders, and the smile that rarely left her was at its
brightest on her face.

"Am I an intruder?" she asked, gayly. "What blissful
visions of ante-nuptial felicity have I frightened away ? You
will forgive me, I know, my pet. I had to come. Kathie,
dear, you don't know how glad I am your wedding day is so
near."

She took both the girl's hands in hers. Katherine' s first im-
pulse was to snatch them impatiently away, but she remem-

112

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

bered her father's warning. This odious, fulsome, fawning
creature had some mysterious power over him ; for his sake she
must be civil.

"You are very good," but, despite the best intentions. Miss
Dangerfield's voice sounded cold. " Will you sit down, Mrs.
Vavasor?"

" No, love ; I will stay but a moment. See, it is midnight.
Weird hour !" with a shrill laugh. "Are there ghosts, do you
know, at Scarswood? Such a dear, romantic old house ought
to be haunted, you know, to make it complete. I suppose
every house, as the poet says, where men and women have
lived and died, is haunted, and we all carry our ghosts with us
through life. But I won't turn prosy and metaphysical on this
happy night. Ah ! darling Kathie, what an enviable girl you
are — how brightly your life has been ordered ! Seventeen, rich,
flattered, caressed, and beloved ! I suppose you have never
had a single wish ungratified in your life, and in two months
you marry the man you love with your whole heart — a man like
one's dreams of the Olympian Apollo. And others of us go
through life, and don't find one completely happy day. It is the
old nursery story over again: 'This little pig goes to market,
and this little pig stays at home.' Katherine Dangerfield, what
a happy girl you ought to be ! "

" I am happy, Mrs. Vavasor."

Still Mrs. Vavasor stood, and looked at her. How strange
the gleam in her eyes, how strange the smile on her lips ! The
firelight sparkled on her emerald silk, on her costly jewels, on
her shining laces, on her coils of satin black hair. Katherine
had never known fear in all her life — but something in that
woman's face made her shrink away in a sort of terror.

" Mrs. Vavasor," she said, rising and turning white, " what
is it you have come here to say to me ? "

The widow laughed aloud — that shrill, metallic laugh that
rasped upon the ear.

"What have I come to say? Why, to wish you joy, of
course, and to tell you I am going away."

"Going away!" Ah, Kathie, what a poor dissembler you
are ! The light of unutterable relief and gladness lights all your
face at the words.

" Going away, my dearest ; and if I dared harbor so inhos-
pitable a suspicion, 1 should say you looked glad to hear it.
But you're not, are you, Kathie, love — and you will speed the
parting guest with real regret ? Yes, my pet, I am going —

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

113

never to come back — well, not more than once again, perhaps
— on your wedding day. For I think I must really come to
your wedding, little Kathie, and wish that beautiful Mr.
Dan tree joy. How well he loves you, Kathie ; he is one of
those artless, frank kind of men who wear their hearts on their
sleeves, for all the Avorld to read. Yes, I leave Scarswood
just one v\^eek preceding your wedding day. You look as if
you did not understand — but you are ever so much relieved
after all. By the bye, Katherine, you grow more and more like
your mother every day. Just at this moment, as you stand
there in the firelight, in that lovely blue silk and sapphires, you
are fearfully and wonderfully like her. V/ ould you believe it.
Miss Dangerfield — your mother once prevented my marriage ? "
" Mrs. Vavasor ? "

" Yes, my dear," the little widow said in her airiest manner,
" prevented my marriage. It was all for the best, you know —
oh, very much for the best. I am not speaking of Mr.
Vavasor, poor dear — your mother never knew him. I was
quite young when my little romance happened, a year or two
older than you are now. He w^as scarcely older than myself,
and very handsome — not so handsome as that divine Gaston,
though, of course. And I was — well, yes — I was just as deeply
in love as you, my impetuous darling, are this moment. The
wedding day was fixed, and the wedding dress made, and at
the last hour your mother prevented it. It is nearly twenty
years ago, and if you will believe it, the old pain and disap-
pointment, and anger, and mortification comes back now, as I
talk, almost as sharply as they did then. For I suffered — as I
had loved — greatty. I have never seen him for twenty long
years, and I never want to now. He is alive still, and married,
with grown-up sons and daughters, and I dare say, laughs with
his wife — a great lady, my dear — over that silly episode of a
most silly youth. And I — I eat, drink, and am merry as you
see, and I forgave your mother, as a Christian should, and
married poor, dear Mr. Vavasor, and was happy. Your mother
died in my arms, Kathie, and now I am coming to her
daughter's wedding."

She laid her hand — burning as though with fever— on the
girl's wrist, and fixed her black, glittering eyes strangely upon
her.

" Look for me on your wedding day, Katherine — I shall be
there ! "

The girl snatched her hand angrily away. Mrs. Vavasor ! "

114

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

she cried out, " what do you mean ? Why do you look at me
so ? You frighten me ! "

" Do I ? " with her mocking laugh. " Now I never meant
to do that. I don't mean anything, how could I ? — but best
wishes for you. Good-night, Katherine — bride elect — heiress
of Scarswood — baronet's daughter — good-night, and pleasant
dreams.

* The morn is merry June, I trow.

The rose is budding fain ;
Eut she shall bloom in winter snow

Ere we two meet again.
He turned his charger as he spoke.

Upon the river shore,
He gave the reins a shake, and cried

Adieu forevermore.
My love !

Adieu forevermore ! ' "

A last derisive glance of the black eyes, a taunting smile —
singing Mr. Dantree's song — Mrs. Vavasor vanished.

Hours and hours after Katherine sat very still, very pale,
and very unlike her bright, dashing, defiant self, before the
flickering fire. What did it all mean ? Mysteries in books were
very nice, the thicker and blacker the better ; but in everyday
life — well, they were exasperating. What power did this woman
hold over her father ? — why could he not speak out and tell
her 2 If he could not trust the daughter who loved him, whom
could he trust ! What did Mrs. Vavasor mean by her sneering
. taunts, only half hidden, her innuendo, her delusive smiles and
glances, her ominous song ? Was it in the power of this dark,
evil woman to part her and her lover?

" No," she said proudly, lifting her head with that haughty
grace that was her chief charm ; " no man or woman on earth
can do that. Nothing in this world can come between Gaston
and me, unless he should prove — "

" False ! " Not even to herself could she repeat that word.
She got up shivering a little.

It grows cold," she thought ; " I will go to bed, and to-
morrow I shall tell papa, and beg him once more to explain.
1 cannot endure that woman's presence much longer."

If early rising be a virtue. Miss Dangerfield possessed it.
She might dance all night, until " the wee sma' hours ayont the
twal'," but she was prepared to rise at six next morning, as
fresh as the freshest. When Sir John came out on the terrace
for his morning smoke, he found his daughter pacing up and
down slowly in the pale, chill sunlight. A scarlet boumous

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

wrapped her, and her dark face looked wan and somber from
out its glowing folds.

" You here, Katherine ! " the baronet said, as he stopped
and kissed her. He was very gentle with her of late ; there
was a sort of sad, abnormal tenderness in his face now. It did
surprise him to find her here so early, but looking again at her, he
saw how heavy the bright eyes were, how slow the elastic foot-
fall, the shadows on the tell-tale face. "What is it, Kathie ? "
he asked. " You look as though you hadn't slept last night.
Has anything gone wrong ? "

''Well, no, papa; nothing exactly gone wrong, perhaps: but
I feel unhappy, and cross, and mystified. I didn't sleep last
night, and it's all owing to that detestable woman. Light
your cigar, papa, and I will tell you while we walk up and
down." She clasped both hands round his arm, and looked up
with dark, solemn eyes. " Papa, I want you to send her away.
She is. a wretch — a wicked, plotting, envious wretch ! I was
happy last night — I don't think I ever was happier in my life.
What business had she to come and spoil it all ? I hate to be
unhappy- — 1 won't be unhappy ! and, papa, I insist upon your
sending the odious little killjoy away ! "

His bronzed face paled perceptibly ; an angry glance came
into his steel-blue eyes.

" You mean Mrs. Vavasor, I presume ? What has she
done?"

" Done ! " Katherine repeated, with angry impatience —
"she has done nothing — she is too cunning for that; and it
isn't altogether what she says, either ; it's her look, her tone,
her smile, that insinuates a thousand things more than she ever
utters. That horrid, perpetual simper of hers says, plainer than
words, ' I know lots of things to your disadvantage, my dear,
and I'll tell them, too, some day, if you don't use me well.' I
hate people that go smirking through life, full of evil and
malice, and all uncharitableness, and who never lose their
temper."

" You seem to have decidedly lost yours this morning, my
dear. May I repeat — what has Mrs. Vavasor done ? "

" This, papa : she came to my room last night, instead of
going honestly to bed like any other Christian, and began talk-
ing to me about my — mother."

Sir John Dangerfield took his cigar suddenly from between
his lips, a dark red flash of intense anger mounting to his
brow.

ii6

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

''About your mother ! " he repeated, in a tense sort of voice.
"What did Mrs. Vavasor say about your mother, Kathie?"

" She said, for one thing, that my mother once prevented her
marriage. Now, did she ? "

" Not that I am aware of. Was that all?"

"Well, that was all she axcused her of, but there were
volumes implied. My mother died in her arms, she said, and
she had long ago forgiven her. Papa, if ever I saw a devil in
human eyes I saw one in hers as she said it. She hated my
mother ; she hates me ; and if it is in her power to do me
or you any harm, she will do it before she leaves Sussex as
surely as we both stand here."

" Katherine, for Heaven's sake — "

" She will, papa ! " Katherine cried, firmly. " All the harm
she can do us she will do. But is it in her power to really
harm us ? The will is there fast enough, but is the way ?"

" My child," he said, and there was a sob in every word, " it
is in her power to ruin us — to ruin youP

Katherine looked at him — very pale, very grave, very quiet.
You could see at once how this impulsive girl, ready to cry out
lustily with impatient anger over little troubles, would bear
great ones.

" Then Heaven help us ! " she said, " if that be true. I
don't understand, and it seems tome you will not explain until
the blow falls. Perhaps I could bear it better if I knew be-
forehand what I had to endure. Just now it seems strangely
impossible. You are a wealthy baronet and I am your only
child — how can a woman hke that injure or ruin us ? Papa,"
suddenly, " is there any flaw in your right of succession to
Scarswood — is there any heir whose claim is better than your
own ? "

He looked at her, a look that haunted her for many a day,
with eyes full of trouble.

"And if it were so. If there were a claimant whose right
was better than my own — if some day, and very soon, Scars-
wood were taken from us, and we went out into the world poor,
disgraced, and penniless, how would it be then. I have asked
you before, 1 ask you again — could you bear poverty, Katherine ?
Could you bear to leave Scarswood and its splendors, and go
forth among the women and men who work, and be happy?

She set her lips close.

" I could go, papa, I suppose," she answered, in a hard sort
of voice. "We can endure almost anything, and people don't

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

117

break their hearts for any loss in this nineteenth century. But
— happy — that is quite another thing. I have told you many
times, and I repeat it now, I would rather die than be poor."

She stopped, and there was dead silence while they walked
up and down the long stone terrace. Up in the bright October
sky the sun rained its golden light, and up in the breezy turrets
the great breakfast-bell began to clang ; very fair Scarswood
park looked in the amber radiance of the crisp early morning
— the green and golden depths of fern, the grand old oaks, and
elms, and beeches, the climbing ivy of centuries' growth, the
red deer racing, and the stately old mansion, with its eastern
windows glittering like sparks of fire. Katherine's eyes wan-
dered over it all — she had learned to love every tree, every
stone in the grand old place.

"Papa," she said, at last, a sort of wail in her tone, "must
we go — -must we give up all this? Vv^as I right after all, and is
this the secret Mrs. Vavasor holds ? "

" Supposing it were — what then, Kathie ? "

"Then," her eyes flashed, "order her out of the house
within the hour, though we should follow her the next."

" What — and brave ruin and exposure when we may avert
them ? "

" You will not avert them. That woman will not spare you
one pang she can inflict. And if we must go" — she threw back
her head with right royal grace — " I would rather we walked
out ourselves, than wait to be turned out. So that I have you
and Gaston left, papa, I can endure all the rest."

His mouth set itself rigidly under his beard, and the soldier- •
fire came into his eyes.

" Let us go in, papa," Katherine said, resolutely, " and when
breakfast is over, give Mrs. Vavasor her conge. It is for my
sake you have been afraid of her — not for your own. Well, I
hate poverty, I know, but I hate Mrs. Vavasor much more.
Send her away, and let her do her worst."

" She shall go ! "

" Thank you, papa. It was not like you to be afraid of
anybody. I will breathe freely again once she is outside of Scars-
wood. Shall she go to-day?"

" To-day — the sooner the better j and then, Kathie —
"Then, papa, when you and I and Gaston go, it will be
together. If we are to be poor, I will work for you — turn
actress, or authoress, or artist, or something free, and jolly, and

ii8

BEFORE THE WEDDING,

Bohemian, and try and remember Scarsv/ood, and its glories,
only as people remember beautiful, impossible dreams."

" My dauntless little girl ! But we won't leave Scarswood !
' — no, not for all the little painted women this side of perdition.
She shall go, and we will stay, and we will let her do her worst.
While I live at least you are safe — after that — "

"But, papa !" with a sort of gasp, " that other heir — "

The baronet laughed.

" There is no other heir, my dear — Scarswood is mine, and
mine only — Mrs. Vavasor shall go, and we will have our
wedding in peace, and if in the future any great loss or worldly
misfortune befall you, let us hope Gaston Dantree's husbandly
love will make up for it. Yes," he lifted his head, and spoke
defiantly, as though throwing off an intolerable burden, "come
what may, the woman shall go ! "

They found her in the breakfast parlor when they entered,
looking out over the sunlit landscape, and waiting impatiently
for her breakfast. Late hours did not agree with Mrs. Vavasor
— it was a very chalky and haggard face she turned to the
baronet and his daughter in the garish morning light. Her
admirers should have seen her at this hour — the seamed and
sallow skin — the dry, parched lips — the sunken eyes v\^ith the
bistre circles — even the perennial smile, so radiant and fresh
under the lamps, looked ghastly in the honest, wholesome sun-
light.

" Good-morning, dear Sir John — good-morning, dearest
K-athie. How well the child looks after last night's late hours
— as fresh as a rosebud, while I — but alas ! I am five-and-
thirty, and she is sweet seventeen. Well, regret for my lost
youth and good looks shall never impair my appetite ; so ' queen
rose of the rosebud garden of girls,' the sooner you give me a
cup of coffee, the sooner my nerves will be strung for the battle
of life that we all poor wretches fight every day."

In dead silence Katherine obeyed — in dead silence the
baronet took his place. Her fate was sealed, her days at
Scarswood numbered. She saw it at a glance.

" I frightened her last night," she thought, " and she has been
laying in a complaint to papa, this morning, and papa has
plucked up courage from despair, and I am to get the route to-
day. What a fool I grow ! Having waited nineteen years, I
might surely have waited two months more. Well, as I must
hold in my hand that promised check for ten thousand pounds
before I cross the threshold, what does it signify ? I shall go

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

119

to London or Paris — my ov/n dear, ever new, ever beautiful
Paris — until the last week of the old year, and enjoy myself
instead of moping to death in this dull, respectable English
house, among dull, respectable English people. It is just as •
well as it is."

Mrs. Vavasor was as agreeably conversable as usual during
breakfast, but as three quarters of an hour's steady talking to
people who only answer in tersely chill monosyllables is apt to
be wearisome even to the sprightliest disposition, her dreary
yawn at rising was very excusable.

" I believe I shall postpone my shopping expedition to
Castleford after all this morning, and go back to bed. Oh
dear ! " another stifled yawn, " how sleepy I am. And we dine
this evening, do we not, dearest Kathie, at Morecambe ? "

" Mrs. Vavasor," Sir John interrupted with cold, curt de-
cision, " before you go to Castleford or to sleep, be kind
enough to follow me into my study. I have a word to say to
you."

He led the way instantly ; Mrs. Vavasor paused a moment
and looked over her shoulder at Katherine with that smile the
girl hated so.

"I think I understand," she said, slowly. "My time has
come. If I shall 7iot be able to put in an appearance at the
Morecambe dinner party this evening, you will make my apol-
ogies, will you not, dearest ? x\nd give my love to that
perfectly deHcious Mr. Dantree."

And then she went, humming a tune, and entered the study,
and stood before the grim old baronet.

He shut and locked the door, took a seat, and pointed im-
peratively for her to take another. All the time her eyes
followed him with a hard, cold glitter, that seemed to set his
teeth on edge. He looked her full in the face, and plunged
headlong into his subject.

" Harriet Harman — Mrs. Vavasor — whatever name you
please, you must leave this house at once ! You hear — at
once ! "

" I hear," she laughed. " It would be a dull intellect in-
deed, my dear Sir John, that could fail to comprehend your
ringing military orders. I must go, and at once. Now that is
hard when I had made up my mind not to stir until after
Christmas. Your house is elegant, your cook perfection,
your wines unexceptionable, your purse bottomless, and your
friends eminently respectable. I'm not used to respectable

120

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

people, nor full purses, and I like Scarswood. Now, suppose
I insist upon spending Christmas here, after all ? "

She folded her arms, and looked at him exactly as she had
done on the night of her arrival.

" I will suppose nothing of the sort — ^you must go."

" Ah ! I must ! I like people, do you know, who say a
thing, and stick to it. Well, you're master here, of course, and
if you insist upon it, what can a poor little helpless widow do ?
But, Sir John, I wonder you're not afraid."

"Beyond a certain point fear ceases, and desperation
comes. I can endure your presence, your sneers, your covert
threats no longer. You are no fit companion, as I told you
before, for Katherine — a woman noted as the most notorious
gambler of Baden and Homburg during the past ten years.
The girl hates you, as you know, and you — how dared you go
to her room as you did last night, and talk of her mother?
How dared you do it ? "

His passion was rising — there was a suppressed fury in his
tone and look, all the stronger for being so long restrained.
The widow met it with a second scornful laugh.

" How dared I do it? You have yet to learn what I dare
do. Sir John. Don't lose your temper, I beg — it's not becoming
in a soldier, a gentleman, and a baronet. How dared I talk
to Katherine of her mother? Now, really. Sir John, that
sounds almost wicked, doesn't it? What more fiHal — what
more sacred subject could I talk to a child upon than the sub-
ject of her sainted mother?"

" Harriet, I thought I would never stoop to ask a favor of
you again, but now I do. Tell me — "

"That will do. Sir John — I know what is coming, and I
won't tell — never ! never ! never ! It would be poor revenge
indeed if I did. What you know now is all you ever will
know, or she either. I'll leave Scarswood to-day, if you
like. After all, hum-drum respectability and stupid stuck-up
country families are apt to pall on depraved Bohemian palates
used to clever disreputable nobodies. Yes, I'll go. Sir John.
Give me that ten thousand pound check. Mon Dieu ! the life
I mean to lead in Paris on that ; delightful, respectable, ortho-
dox— and I'll shake the dust of Scarswood off my wandering
feet — forever ! "

" Forever ! You swear never to trouble us more ?"

" I will swear anything you like, baronet. Oaths or words —
it's all the same to Mrs. Vavasor."

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

121

" How can I trust you ? How am I to tell that after I pay
you the exorbitant price you ask for your secrecy, you will
not go to Peter Dangerfield and betray me ? "

Mrs. Vavasor laid her hand on her heart.

" On the honor of all the Vavasors, whose sang-azure flows
in those veins, I swear it ! You must take my word, baronet,
and chance it. Have I not promised — am I not ready to
swear — ' by all the vows that ever men have broken ' ? What •
more do you want? Give me the money, and let me bid
you — * oh, friend of my brighter days ! ' — one long, one last
farewell ! "

He went to his writing-case, and handed her a crossed check
for ten thousand pounds. Her eyes flashed vvath intense de-
light as she looked at it.

"Ten thousand pounds! Ten thousand pounds! and I
never had ten thousand pence before in all my life. Sir John,
a million thanks. May you be happy ! — may your shadow
never be less ! May your children's children (meaning the
future little Dantrees) rise up, and call you blessed ! Those
aged eyes of yours will never be pained by the spectacle of
my faded features more. I go, Sir John — 1 go — and I leave
my benediction behind."

She went up to her room singing. Ninon was summoned,
a chambermaid was summoned, and Mrs. Vavasor worked
with right good-will. Two little shabby portmanteaus had held
Mrs. Vavasor's wardrobe last September — now four large
trunks and no end of big boxes, little boxes, and hand-bags
were filled. And with the yellow radiance of the noonday
sunshine bathing park, trees, turrets, and stately mansion
in its glory, Mrs. Vavasor was whirled away to Castleford sta-
tion.

She looked back as the light trap flew through the great
gates, and under the huge Norman arch.

"A fair and noble inheritance," she said; "too fair by far
to go to her mother's daughter. Your sky is without a cloud,
now, but when next I come, my brilliant, h ppy, haughty
Katherine, look to yourself This morning's v ak is your do-
ing— I am not likely to forget that."

Mrs. Vavasor was gone. The news fell upon Mr. Peter
Dangerfield like a blow. As suddenly and mysteriously as
she had at first appeared, she had vanished, and where were all
her vague promises and bewildering insinuations now?

Katherine was to be married, the wedding day was fixed, he
G

122

BEFORE THE WEDDING.

had been bidden to the feast. She had insulted him, scorned
him ; he must pocket his rage, and hve without his revenge.
He ^yas not prepared to break the law and commit a murder,
and how else was he to pay off this insolent heiress, and
her still more insolent lover ? Mrs. Vavasor was gone, and all
his hopes of vengeance went with her.

Something might happen, to be sure, between this and the
wedding day. Gaston Dantree might be shown up in his true
colors, as the unprincipled fortune-hunter he was. People die
suddenly, too, occasionally. Katherine might break her
neck even, in one of her mad gallops over highways and by-
ways. While there is life there is hope.

He went to Scarswood" pretty frequently now — saw the
lovers together happy and handsome, made himself agreeable,
always in a cousinly way, and the weeks sped on. The trous-
seau was ordered, all was joy and gayety at the great house.
Christmas week came and nothing had happened.

He sat moodily alone one evening — Christmas Eve it chanced
to be — before his solitary bachelor fire, brooding over his
wrongs. His solitary, bachelor dinner stood on the table — he
had been invited to a brilliant dinner party at Scarswood, but
he was growing tired of going to Scarswood, and hoping against
hope. Nothing ever befell this insolent pair — Katherine
grew happier — brighter — more joyous every day, and that up-
start, Dantree, more invincibly good-looking. Nothing hap-
pened ; luck was dead against him ; nothing ever would hap-
pen. This night week was the wedding night — and what a
life spread before those two in the future. It drove him half-
mad to look at them at times. And he — he must go on
grubbing like a worm in the clay, for ever and ever. Kathe-
rine and Katherine' s children would inherit Scarswood, and
all hope was at an end for him. He was only a rickety dwarf
Never while life remained would he forget or forgive those
cruel words.

"If 1 live for sixty )^ears to come, I'll only live in the
hope of paying you off, my lady," he muttered, clenching his
teeth; "it's a long lane, indeed, that has no turning! Curse
that Mrs. Vavasor ! If she knew anything, why didn't she tell
me?"

There was a tap at the door.

"Come in," he called, sulkily; "it's time you came to
clear away that mess." He thought it was the servant, but
instead a lady — dressed in black — and closely vailed, entered.

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

123

He arose in surprise, and stood looking at her. Who was
this? She shut the door, turned the key, advanced toward
him, and held out.her hands to the fire.

''It is cold," she said, ''and I have walked all the way from
the station. Have you dined ? What a pity ! And I am hungry.
Well, give me a glass of wine at least."

He knew the voice. With a suppressed exclamation he drew
nearer.

" It is," he said — " surely it is — "

" Mrs. Vavasor ! " She flung back her vail and met his
glance, with the old smile, the old malicious expression. " Yes,
it is Mrs. Vavasor, come all the way from Paris to see you,
and keep her word. A promise should be held sacred— and
I promised you your revenge, did I not? Yes, Mr.. Danger-
field, I have travelled straight from Paris to you, to tell you
what is to make your fortune, and mine — Sir John Dangerfield's
secret!"

CHAPTER XL

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

ITH a fierce, low cry of intense delight, Peter Danger-
field grasped her by the wrist, his thin face close to
hers, and flushed with eager joy.

" You will tell me ! " he almost gasped — "you mean
it this night ! — you will tell me to-night ! "

" To-night. Let go my wrist, Mr. Dangerfield ; you hurt me.
Be civil enough to hand me a chair ; now a glass of wine — or
brandy, if you have it. Ah ! this is the true elixir of life ! "

•She sat down before the fire, put up her little Paris gaiters
on the fender, lay back luxuriousl}^, and took the glass of
French brandy he offered her.

" You are sure there are no eavesdroppers in your establish-
ment, mon ami? I don't care about being overheard."
" There are none."

She drew forth from her purse a sHp of written paper — Peter
Dangerfield's promise to pay her ten thousand pounds when
Scarswood became his.

124

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

" You recognize this, Mr. Dangerfield, and are still willing to
abide by it ? "

" Perfectly willing. For Heaven's sake, don't keep me in
this fever of suspense and curiosity — speak out ! "

She replaced the slip of paper, finished the brandy, and pro-
duced a rose-scented cigarette.

" I always smoke when I talk, if possible, and the story I
have to tell is a somewhat lengthy one. Won't you load, and
hght up also ? — I see your little black pipe there on the chim-
ney-piece. No ? You're too anxious, I perceive, and nobody
can enjoy a pipe or manilla, and listen thoroughly at the same
time. Well, before I begin, I must extort another promise.
No matter what I tell you, you are not to speak of it until I
give you leave. Don't look alarmed — your prohibition will
not last long — only until Katherine Dangerfield' s wedding-day.
Is it a promise ? "

" It is. Go on — go on ! "

" Draw closer, then."

He obeyed, and little Mrs. Vavasor, leaning back in the
easy chair, shoes to the fire, cigarette in mouth, began, fluently
and at once, the story she had come to tell.

The Christmas festivities at Scarswood were very gay indeed,
and Mr. Peter Dangerfield missed a very pleasant evening by
staying away. Perhaps, though, on the whole, he enjoyed him-
self quite as much in his bachelor lodgings at Castleford, tete-a-
tete with Mrs. Vavasor. The long drawing-rooms were ablaze
with light, and festooned with ivy and mistletoe, and gleaming
with scarlet hollyberries. A very large company were assem-
bled— it was an understood thing that Miss Dangerfield ap-
peared in public no more until she appeared as a bride.

She was looking very well to-night — her large eyes full of lus-
trous light, her animated face dimpling ever into radiant smiles.
Her silken robe of white, shot with palest rose, blushed as she
walked : large Oriental pearls clasped back the floating brown
hair, and shone in cloudy splendor on her slim throat. Not
handsome — never that — but bright with health, youth, and per-
fect happiness.

Since the day of Mrs. Vavasor's departure, the days and
weeks lay behind her in a golden mist. Time never flew so
fast before.

" How noiseless fall the feet of time
That only tread on flowers ! "

THE WEDDING NTGHT.

125

The only thorn in her rose-crown had been removed — papa
looked contented, or if not contented, resigned — Gaston was
all in the way of a devoted Romeo the most exacting Juliet
could wish. Then there had been the trousseau to order — a
trip to London to make, endless new dresses, and bonnets, and
presents, and altogether Christmas Eve had come with magical
quickness. On New Year's Eve — ^just one week from to-
night— she would be Gaston's wife, and- the happiest bride the
wide earth held. They were to be married at eleven in the
forenoon in Castleford Church. Edith Talbot to be first brides-
maid, and her brother chief groomsman, and after the wedding
breakfast, the " happy pair " were to start on their honeymoon
journey — a long, delightful continental trip, which was to ex-
tend far into the spring. Then would come the return, the
bonfires, the bell-ringing, the feasting of tenantry, and she
and Gaston would settle down seigneur and chatelaine of Scars-
wood, and life would go on forever a perpetual round of Lon-
don seasons, presentations at court, Paris winters, autumns at
Scarswood, operas, balls, and all the salt of life.

That was the programme. "Man proposes" — you know
the proverb. The ante-matrimonial horizon just at present
looked cloudless — a violet sky set with gold stars — not a cloud
in all its dazzling expanse. And five miles away at Castleford,
a man and woman sat plotting her life-long misery, disgrace,
and ruin.

Mr. Dantreewasin great force to-night — his voice, and looks,
his whole worldly wealth, at their best. He had been the
world's football a long time — a scape-goat of society, fighting
his way inch by inch, and now the goal was won. Fortune such
as he had never dared dream of or hope for had come to him
— eight thousand a year, and a title in prospective. And
all, thanks to his suave, olive-skinned beauty and flute-like
voice.

" Only one week more, Gaston, mon fils^^ he said to himself,
exultantly, as he whirled homeward with the Talbots, " and
then let Fate do her worst — she can't oust me from Scarswood
and my wife. Unless — always unless — unless Marie should
take it into her jealous head to come over here and hunt me
up. I wonder what she said or did when she got all her let-
ters back. I know what she thought ; there could be no two
opinions on that subject. Poor, passionate, proud Uttle beauty !
What an unmitigated scoundrel I am, to be sure ! The nearer
the wedding day draws the more I seem to think of her — the

126

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

fonder I grow of her — all because I've given her up forever, I
suppose."

But fondness for any human creature was not a weakness
Mr. Dan tree would ever allow to stand m his way to fortune.
Jealous and exacting as nature had made the baronet's daugh-
ter— her accepted lover gave her no shadow of excuse for
either. He played his role of Romeo to perfection ; if it bored
him insufferably she never saw it ; and now — it was only one
week, and once her husband, why all this untiring devotion
might reasonably cool down a trifle, and the continual " tender
nothings " of courtship give place to the calm friendliness of
humdrum married life.

" She can't expect a fellow to dangle at her apron-strings all
her days," Mr. Dantree thought: " if she does she's mistaken
— that's all. I'm ready to call all the gods to witness that I
adore the ground she treads on, before the words are said, and
the nuptial knot tied ; but afterward, my bonnibelle, you'll
have to take it for granted or do without. Men love most, the
wiseacres say, before marriage ; women most after. How will
it be with me, I wonder, who don't love at all ? "

It was long past midnight when the carriage of the last guest
rolled away from the hospitable portals of Scarswood, and the
" lights were fled, the garlands dead, the banquet hall deserted."
And Katherine, trailing her brilliant silk after her, her jewels
gleaming in the fitful light, eyes shining, and cheeks flushed,
went up to her room. Through the oriel window at the head
of the stairs the full winter midnight moon shone gloriously.
The Bloody Hand, and the crest of the Dangerfields — a falcon
rending a dove — shone out vividly through the painted panes.
A black frost held the earth in hands of iron ; the skeleton
trees waved gaunt, striped arms in the park ; the wild Decem-
ber wind whistled shrilly up from the coast, and overhead
spread that blue, star-studded, moonlit sky. Katherine leaned
against the glass and gazed up at that shining silver orb, and
her thoughts drifted away from her own supreme bliss to that
other Christmas ever so many hundred years ago, when the
first anthem was sung by the angels over the blue hills of Galilee.

"Katherine!" Her father's door opened, and her father's
voice called. ''You will take cold to a dead certainty, stand-
ing there. I thought you had gone to your room."

" I'm going, papa — I'm not in the least sleepy — I never am
sleepy, 1 think, on bright, moonlight nights like this. I wonder
if my brain is touched like other lunatics at the full of the

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

127

moon. Why are you not in bed ? Papa ! " with a sudden cry
of alarm — a sudden spring forward, " you are not well ! "

His face was of a strange, Hvid hue, there was a continual
nervous twitching of the muscles, and his eyes had a murky,
bloodshot look.

" Papa, darling ! what is it? Are you ill? "

" Not very well, I fear. I have not been well for days, but
I feel worse to-night than usual. And I think I ought to tell
you — if anything should happen." Pie paused, and put his
hand to his forehead in a confused sort of way. " My head
feels all wrong somehow to-night. Katherine, if you're not
sleepy, come in — I have something of importance to say to
you."

She followed him, in some wonder and more alarm. His
face had changed from its dull pallor to dark red, his voice
sounded incoherent and husky. What did it all mean ? She
entered his room, watching him with wide, wondering eyes.

" Sit down," he said, impatiently shifting away from her
glance, "and don't stare in that way, child. I don't suppose
it's anything to be alarmed about, only — I think I ought to tell.
You're going to be married, and you ought to know. Then
the burden and the secrecy will be off my conscience, and you
can tell him or not, as you please. That will be your affair,
and if he deserts you — " He stopped again, again pressed his
hand hard over his forehead, as though the thread of his ideas
had broken. "There's something queer the matter with my
head," he half muttered : "I don't seem able to talk or think
somehow to-night."

" Then I wouldn't try, papa," Katherine interrupted, more
and more alarmed ; "you are looking dreadfully. Let me ring
for Francois to see you and send for the doctor. I am sure
you are not fit to be up."

"No, no — don't send — at least not yet. I have made up
my mind to-night, and, if I don't tell you now, I may never
summon courage again. You ought to know, child — you
ought to know. You are not safe for an hour. It is like
living over a lighted mine, until that woman is dead. You
ought to tell him — that fellow — Dantree, you know. If he de-
serts you, as I said, better to do it before the wedding day than
after. I know it is the money he wants — I know he's a
coward, and a humbug, and a fortune hunter, and it may be the
greatest mercy for you, child, if he does leave you before the
vyedding day."

128

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

Katherine started to her feet.

" Papa," she cried passionately, " this is too bad — too cruel !
I thought you were never going to speak against Gaston again
— you told me you would not — surely he has done nothing to
deserve it. This day week is ray wedding day, and you talk of
his deserting me. Papa, if such a thing happened — could hap-
pen— I would kill myself — I tell you I would ! I would never
survive such disgrace ! "

He sank into a chair in a dazed, helpless sort of way.
What shall I do ? " he said wearily ; " what shall I do ? If I
had only told her years and years ago ! Now it is too late."

She stood and looked at him, pale with wonder and vague
alarm.

" Told me what ? Is it the secret that Mrs. Vavasor holds ?
Why not tell me, then ? Whatever it is, I can bear it — I can
bear anything, only your hard words of Gaston, your talk of his
deserting me. Tell me, my father — I'm not a child or a cow-
ard. I can bear it, whatever it is."

"You think so, but you don't know — you don't know ! You
hate that woman, and you are so proud — so proud ! You can-
not bear poverty — you told me that — and I — what can I do ?
I cannot save you from — "

His incoherent words died aAvay — his head fell back. Kath-
erine sprang to his side with a scream of terror. Another
instant and she flew to the bell, ringing a peal that nearly tore
it down. Oh ! what was this ?

His face had grown purple — his whole form rigid — what he
had feared so long had befallen at last. He was stricken with
apoplexy.

The room filled with frightened servants. After the first
shock, all Katherine' s senses came back. She dispatched a
man at once to Castleford for the family doctor. Sir John v/as
conveyed to bed, undressed, and all the restoratives they knew
how to use appHed. All in vain. With the dawning of the
Christmas day, the stalwart old soldier lay before them, breath-
ing stentoriously, and quite senseless.

Doctor Graves and his attendant, a young man, Mr. Otis,
arrived, and pronounced the fit apoplexy at once. They sent
the pale girl in the festal dress, the shining pearls, and the wild,
Avide eyes out of the room, and did their best for the master of
that grand old house. But they labored in vain, the long hours
wore away — and still Sir John lay rigid and senseless where
they had first laid him.

THE WEDDING NIGHT

129

White as a spirit, almost as cold, almost as still, Katherine went
up to her room. She made no attempt to change her dress, to re-
move her jewels. She had loved this most indulgent father very
dearly — the possibility that he could be taken from her had
never occurred to her. Only yesterday morning he had ridden
with her over the downs, only last night he had sat at the head
of his table and entertained his guests. And now — he lay yon-
der, stark and lifeless — dead already for what she knew.

She could not rest. She left her room, and paced up and
down the long corridor. He was not dead — she could hear his
loud breathing where she walked. She could not cry ; tears,
that relieve other women, other girls of her age, rarely came to
Katherine. She felt cold and wretched. How drearily still
the great house was ! Would those two doctors never open
that door and let her in to her father ! What had he been try-
ing to tell her ? — what dreadful secret was this that involved
her life, and which made his so miserable ? He had talked of
Gaston deserting her. The wedding must be postponed now,
and postponed weddings were always ominous. How was it
all going to end ? She shivered in her low-necked and short-
sleeved dress, but it never occurred to her to go for a wrap.
She stood and looked out of the oriel window once more.
Morning was breaking — Christmas morning — red and golden,
and glorious in the east. The first pink rays of the sunrise
glinted through the leafless trees, over terrace and glade, lawn
and woodland. Outside the gates the carol singers were
blithely chanting already; new life — new joy everywhere with-
out and within, the lord of this stately mansion, of this majestic
park, lay dying, it might be.

But it was not death. The door opened presently, and the
pale, keen face of Mr. Otis, the assistant, looked out.

" Sir John has recovered consciousness, Miss Dangerfield,"
he said, " and is asking for you."

Thank God ! " Katherine's heart responded, but the dreary
oppression did not lift. She went into the sick room, knelt
down beside the bed in her shining robes, and softly kissed the
helpless hand.

"You are better, papa?"

But Doctor Graves interrupted at once.

''You may remain with Sir John, Miss Dangerfield, but
neither of you must speak a word. Danger is over for the
present, but I warn you the slightest excitement now or at any
future time may prove fatal.
6*

130

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

The eyes of the stricken man were fixed upon her with a
strange, earnest wistfuhiess. He tried feebly to speak — his fin-
gers closed almost convulsively over hers. She bent her ear to
catch his words.

"Send for Hammersly — I must make my will."

She kissed him soothingly.

" Yes, papa, darling, but not now. There's no hurry, you
know — all present danger is over. You are to be very still,
and go to sleep. I will stay by you and watch."

" You will drink this. Sir John," Doctor Graves said, author-
itatively, and the sick man swallowed the opiate, and, with his
hand still clasped in Katherine's, fell asleep.

Dr. Graves departed. Mr. Otis remained ; Katherine kept
her vigil by the bedside, very pale in the sunlight of the new
day. Mr. Otis watched her furtively from his remote seat.
Hers was a striking face, he thought, a powerful face — a face
full of character.

"That girl will be no common woman," bethought; ''for
good or for evil, she's destined to wield a powerful influence.
You don't see such a face as that many times in life."

The weary moments wore on. The Christmas morning
grew brighter and brighter. The house was still very quiet.
Outside the wintry sunshine sparkled, and the trees rattled in
the frosty wind. The pale watcher lay back in her chair, paler
with every passing moment, but never offering to stir. How
white she was, how weary she looked. The young physician's
heart went out to her in a great compassion.

"Miss Dangerfield, pardon me, but you are worn out.
There is no danger now, and you may safely trust Sir John
to my care. Pray let me prevail upon you to go and lie
down."

She opened her eyes, and looked at him in some surprise,
and with a faint smile.

" You are very kind," she said gently, " but I promised to
stay here until he awoke."

There was nothing more to be said — Miss Dangerfield' s tone
admitted of no dispute. Mr. Otis went back to his seat, and
listened to the ticking of the clock and the sighing of the De-
cember wind.

It was almost noon when Sir John awoke — much better, and
quite conscious. His daughter had never stirred. She bent
over him the instant his eyes opened.

"Papa, dear, you are better?"

THE WEDDING NIGHT,

" You here still, Kathie ? " he said feebly. " Have you
never been to bed at all ? "

"No, Sir John," Mr. Otis interrupted, coming forward ; "and
I must beg of you to use your influence to send her there.
Her long vigil has quite worn her out, but she would not
leave you."

She stooped and kissed him.

"I will go now, papa. Mr. Otis and Mrs. Harrison will stay
with you. I do feel a little tired, I admit."

Sir John's attack seemed but slight, after all. He kept his
bed all next day, but on the third was able to sit up.

"And I don't see any necessity for postponing our wedding,
Katherine," Mr. Gaston Dantree said. "Since by New Year's
Eve Sir John will be almost completely restored."

" But he will not be able to drive to the church with me,
Gaston," Katherine argued. " Dr. Graves will not permit him
to leave the house for a fortnight, and besides, the excitement."

" Katherine," her lover interrupted decidedly, " I will 7tot
have our marriage postponed — the most unlucky thing con-
ceivable. If the governor isn't able to go to church at Castle-
ford, and give you away, why let's have the ceremony here in
the house. If the mountain can't come to Mahomet, why
Mahomet can go to the mountain. A wedding in the house
is a vast deal pleasanter to my mind than in public at Castle-
ford, with all the tagrag of the parish agape at the bride and
groom, and all Castleford barracks clanking their spurred
heels and steel scabbards up the aisles, putting us out of coun-
tenance."

Katherine laughed.

" My dear bashful Gaston ! the first time I ever dreamed
that anything earthly could put you out of countenance ! Well,
I'll ask papa, and it shall be as he says."

Miss Dangerfield did ask papa, and rather to her surprise
received an almost eager assent.

" Yes, yes," he said feverishly. " Dantree's right — a post-
poned marriage is the most unlucky thing on earth. We won't
postpone it. Let it be in the house as he suggests, since my
driving with you to church is an impossibility. Since it must
be done, 'twere well 'twere done quickly ! Let the summer
drawing-room be fitted up, and let the ceremony be performed
there."

Mr. Peter Dangerfield had been a daily visitor at Scars wood
ever since his uncle's illness — no nephew more devoted, more

132

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

anxious than he. The baronet listened to his eager inquiries
after his health, his son-like anxiety, with a cynical smile.

" If I were dead there would be one the less between him
and the title — you understand. I have no donbt Peter is anx-
ious that — I should never recover."

" Something's happened to Peter, papa," answered Kather-
ine thoughtfully, "he's got quite a new way of talking and
carrying himself of late. He looks as if some great good fort-
une had befallen him. Now what do you suppose it can be ? "

" Great good fortune," Sir John repeated, with rather a
startled face. " I think you must be mistaken, Katherine. I
wonder," very slowly this, " if — if he — has been in communica-
tion with Mrs. Vavasor since her departure."

For Mrs. Vavasor's presence in Castleford was still a pro-
found secret. She had taken lodgings in the remotest and
quietest suburb of the town. She never ventured abroad by
day, and had assumed an alias. She and Mr. Dangerfield kept
tryst in the evenings, in lonely lanes and deserted places, and
no one save himself dreamed of her presence.

But three days now to the wedding day, and those three flew
apace. It had been arranged that since, contrary to all prece-
dent, the marriage was to be performed at Scarswood, it should
also take place in the evening, to be followed, in the good old-
fashioned way, by a supper and ball, and the bridal party start
next day for the Continent. The hour was fixed for ten, and
half the county invited.

Sir John's progress toward strength was very slow. Some
secret anxiety seemed preying on his mind and keeping him
back. He watched his idolized darling flying up and down
stairs, dashing, bright as the sunshine itself, in and out of the
room, singing like a skylark in her perfect bliss, and he shrank
from the sight as though it gave him positive pain.

"How can I tell her?" he thought; "how can I ever tell
her? And yet I ought — I ought." ^;

Once or twice he feebly made the attempt, but Katherine
put him down immediately in her decided way.

" Not a word now, papa — I won't have it. I don't want to
hear any nasty, annoying secrets two days before my wedding,
and have my peace of mind disturbed in this way. If I've got
to hear this disagreeable thing, let me wait until the honey-
moon is over — Gaston will hel[) me bear it then — you tried to
tell me Christmas Eve, and brought on a fit of apoplexy ; and
now, contrary to all medical commands, you want to begin over

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

again, and bring on another. But I'm mistress of the situation
at present, and I won't listen. So set your mind at rest, and
don't wear that gloomy countenance on the eve of your only
daughter's marriage."

He was too feeble to resist. He held her to him a moment,
and looked into the happy young face with a weary sigh.

''I suppose few fathers look very joyous on the eve of an
only daughter's marriage, and I have greater reason than you
dream of to look gloomy. But let it be as you say — let us
postpone the evil hour as long as we can."

The last day came — the day before New Year's Eve. The
bride elect had been busier even than usual all day. Mr.
Dantree dined and spent the evening there alone. They were
both very grave, very quiet — that long, peaceful evening, the
last of her youth and her happiness, never faded from the girl's
memory. The picture, as she saw it then, haunted her to her
dying hour — the big, lamplit drawing-room — her father's quiet
figure lying back in his easy chair before the fire — her lover at
the piano playing soft melancholy airs, and she herself nestling
in a dormeuse, listening to the music, and his whispered words
— the "sweet nothings" of courtship. She followed him out
into the grand portico entrance of the house to say good-by for
the last time. The cold, white moon sailed up the azure, the
stars were numberless, the trees cast long, black shadows in the
ivory light. The night air sighed faintly in the woodland ;
something in the still, solemn beauty of the dying night filled
the girl's heart with a sense almost of pain.

"The sun will shine to-morrow," Gaston whispered; "and
' blessed is the bride that the sun shines on ! ' Good-night,
my darling, for the last time."

He held her in his arms a moment — for the last time !

The last time ! And no foreboding — of all that was so near
at hand came to her as she stood there.

The promise of the night did not hold good. Mr. Dantree' s
prediction as to the sunshine was not destined to be fulfilled.
New Year's Eve dawned cloudy, cold, and overcast. A long,
lamentable blast soughed up from the sea, the low-lying sky
frowned darkly over the black, frost-bound earth.

"We're going to have a storm," Sir John said; "our guests
must reach us through a tempest to-night."

The storm broke at noon — rain, sleet, and roaring wind.
Katherine shivered as she listened to the wild whistling of the
blast. She, usually the least nervous and superstitious of hu-

134

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

man beings, felt little cold chills creeping over her, as she
harkened to its wintry howls.

" It sounds like the cry of a banshee," she said, with a shud-
der, to Edith Talbot. ''Such a wild, black, sleety, wretched
winter day ! And last night there was not a cloud in the sky !
Edith, do you believe in omens ? "

" I believe this is a disagreeable day, as it is in the nature of
December days to be, and that you are a nervous goose for the
first time in your life. You don't suppose Mr. Dantcee is sugar
or salt to melt in the rain, or a feather for the wind to blow
away. Don't be so restless and fidgety, Kathie, or you'll make
me as nervous as yourself"

The short, dark, winter afternoon dragged on.

With the fall of the night the storm seemed to increase.
The roar of the winds deepened ; the dull thunder of the surf
on the shore reached them ; the trees waved in the high gale
like human things in pain ; and the ceaseless sleet lashed the
glass.

" An awful night for a wedding," even the servants whispered.
" No wonder poor Miss Katherine looks like a ghost."

She was pale beyond all the ordinary pallor of bridehood —
strangely restless, strangely silent.

Darkness fell, the whole house was lit up ; flowers bloomed
everywhere as though it had been midsummer : warmth and
luxury everywhere within contrasted with the travail of the
dying year. Under the hands of her maid, Katherine sat pas-
sive to all changes. The supreme hour of her life had come,
and in every wail of wind, every dash of the frozen rain, she
seemed to hear the warning words of her old nurse : False as
fair ! False as fair !

Eight o'clock. The Rector of Castleford and his curate had
arrived. Nine ! The musicians had come, and the earliest of
the nuptial guests ; the roll of carriages could be heard through
the tumult of the storm. Half-past nine ! And " I wonder if
Gaston has yet arrived ? " Katherine said.

It was the first time she had spoken for over an hour. Her
attendant bridesmaids, five besides Miss Talbot, were all there.
The dressing-rooms were bright with fair girls, floating tulle and
laces, and fragrant with flowers. Miss Talbot and the French
maid were alone with the bride. The last touch had been
given to the toilet. The robe of dead-white silk swept in its
richness far behind, the tall, slim figure looked taller and slim-
mer than ever, the virginal orange blossoms crowned the long,

THE WEDDING NIGHT.

light-brown hair, the bridal veil floated like a mist ovef all.
The last jewel was placed, the last ribbon tied, the last fall of
lace arranged. She stood before the mirror fair, pale, pensive
— a bride ready for the altar.

A quarter of ten ! The Swiss clock, telhng of the quarters,
startled them. How the moments flew — how fast the guests
were arriving through the storm. The roll of carriages was al-
most incessant now, and lifting her dreamy eyes Katherine re-
peated her inquiry : " I wonder if Gaston has come ? "

"What a question!" cried Miss Talbot. "A bridegroom
late, and that bridegroom Mr. Dantree of all men. Of course,
he has come, and is waiting in a fever of impatience down-
stairs. Ninon, run and see."

The French girl went, and came flying back breathlessly.
Mademoiselle, how strange. Monsieur Dantree has not
arrived. Mon seigneur, the abbe, is ready and waiting — all
the guests are assembled, but mon Dieti I the bridegroom is
late ! "

Miss Talbot looked at her friend. Neither spoke nor moved.
The flock of bridesmaids, a " rose-bud garden of girls," came
floating in with their misty drapery, their soft voices and sub-
dued laughter. It was ten o'clock, and the wedding hour.

There was a tap at the door. Ninon opened it, and old Sir
John, white as ashes -and trembling on his staff, entered and
approached his daughter.

" Katherine, Dantree has not come."

" I know it, father. Something has happened."

Her voice was quite steady, but a gray, ashen terror blanched
her face.

" Had you not better send to Morecambe ? " Edith Talbot
interposed. " He was quite well when I left this morning.
Has George arrived ? "

"Your brother is here. Miss Talbot."

" And what does he say ? "

" Nothing to the point. Before dark Dantree left him to go
to his room and dress. Your brother when starting for here
sent him word, and found his room deserted. Taking it for
granted he wished to be alone, and had left for Scarswood be-
fore him, your brother came over at once. He was astonished
when he arrived at not finding him here."

And then dead silence fell. What did it mean ?

Below the guests had gathered in groups, whispering omi-
nously ; in the " bridal bower " bride and bridesmaids looked at

136

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

each other's pale faces and never spoke. One by one the
moments told off. A quarter i^ast ten, and still no bride-
groom !

Then all at once wheels dashed up to the door — in the en-
trance hall there was the sudden bustle of an arrival. Kathe-
rine's heart gave one great bound; and Edith Talbot, unable
to endure the suspense, unable to look at her friend's tortured
face, turned and ran out of the room.

" Wait ! " she said. " 1 will be back in a moment."

She flew down the stairs. Some one had arrived— -a gentle-
man— but not Gaston Dantree. The new-comer, pale, breath-
less, eager, was only Peter Dangerfield.

■ But he might bring news — he looked as though he did. She
was by his side in a moment, her hand on his arm.

" What is it ? " she said. " Has anything happened to Mr.
Dantree ? "

"Yes, Dangerfield," exclaimed Captain De Vere, coming
forward. "As second-best man I have a right to know.
Shorten the agony, if possible, and out with it. What's up
The hour is past and the bride is waiting, where the devil is
the bridegroom ? "

CHAPTER XII.

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

HERE was the bridegroom ?

Gaston Dantree bade good-by to Katherine Danger-
field, and rode down that noble avenue of elms leading
to the ponderous gates. His horse's footsteps rang
clear and sharp through the still, frosty air, the silvery mist of
moonlight bathed all. things in its pale, mystic glow.

He paused an instant to look back, ere he rode away. What
a fair domain it was — what a stately sweep of park, and glade,
and woodland — fairer than ever in the pearly light of the Christ-
mas moon. How noble the old house looked, with its turrets,
its peaked gables, its massive stack of chimneys. And to-
morrow all this would be — his — he an outcast of the New York
streets.

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

1 He laughed softly, exultantly to himself, as he turned and

i rode swiftly away.

"It's better to be born lucky than rich — it's better to be
born handsome than lucky. A clear complexion and a set of
regular features, a tenor voice, and insinuating manners have
done more for me than they do for most men. They have
riiade my fortune. Half the men and women in the world are
fools at best, and don't know how to use the gifts with which
nature endows them. I was born in the gutter, brought up
in the streets, adopted out of charity, turned out for my short-
comings, to starve, or steal, to go to State prison, or — become
the literary hack of a sporting paper, ill-paid, and ill-used.
And now — to-morrow is my wedding day, and a baronet's
daughter and the heiress of eight thousand a year to be my
bride. Gaston Dantree, I congratulate you again, and still
again, you're one of the very cleverest fellows I ever knew
in the whole course of my life."

And then, as Mr. Dantree rode over the moonlit high-
road, he astonished belated wayfarers by uplifting his voice
in melody, so sweet and clear, that even the sleeping
nightingales, had there been any in December, might have
awakened to listen and envy. The wheels of the world were
greased on their axles for him. A bride and a fortune, and
a life of perpetual pleasure lay beyond to-morrow's sunrise.
There was only one thorn in all his bed of roses — Marie.

" If she should come, after all ! and Satan himself I believe
can never tell what a woman may do. You may be as certain
as that you live she will take one course, and ten to one she
takes the direct opposite. For Marie De Lansac to pursue any
man, though he sat on the throne of the Caesars, is the most
unlikely thing on earth, and for that very reason she may turn
up now. If she should appear to-morrow, and forbid the
banns ! Such things happen sometimes. Or, if she should turn
up a year hence, and proclaim my secret and her wrongs !
And bigamy's a devilish ugly word ! "

The shadow of the avenger pursued Mr. Dantree into
dreamland. His visions this ante-nuptial night were all dark
and ominous. He fell asleep, to see the face of the woman
he feared, dark and menacing; he awoke, and fell asleep
again, to see it pahidand despairing, wild with woman's utmost
woe. He started out of bed at last, at some abnormal hour
in the dismal dawn, with a curse upon his lips. Sleeping or
waking, the face of Marie De Lansac haunted him like an

138

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

avenging ghost. The storm had come with the new day — rain
and sleet beat the glass, the wind howled dismally around
the house and up and down the draughty passages. Mr.
Dantree scowled at the distant prospect — atmospheric infiLi-
ences did not affect him much as a rule, but they affected him
to-day. I suppose the least sensitive of human beings likes
bright sunshine, balmy breezes, and cloudless skies for his
wedding day. Mr. Dantree cursed the weather — cursed the
pursuing memory that drove him from his bed — cursed his own
folly in letting superstitious fears trouble him, and having
finished his litany, produced a smoke-colored bottle of French
brandy, a case of manillas, and flung himself into an easy
chair before the still smouldering fire. He primed himself with
eau de vie until the breakfast bell rang, and then descended
to meet his host and his sister, and get the vapors of the night
dispelled in their society.

Miss Talbot departed for Scarswood almost immediately
after breakfast. Mr. Dantree escorted her to the carriage, and
moodily watched her drive away.

"I suppose I am to give your love to Katherine?" the
young lady said, gayly ; "and I suppose we won't see you
until the hour. Try and v/ear a less dolorous face, sign or,
when you do present yourself It's a serious occasion, beyond
doubt, but not even matrimony can warrant so gloomy a coun-
tenance as that."

How the long interminable hours of that day wore on, Gas-
ton Dantree never afterward knew. Something was going to
happen — he simply felt that — what, he did not know. Marie
might come, or she might not ; but whether or no, something
would happen. The dark sleety hours dragged slowly along
— he smoked furiously — he drank more brandy than was at all
prudent or usual for bridegrooms — he went in and out in a
restless fever, that would not let him sit down. He paced up
and down the leafless aisles, the sleet driving sharply in his
face, the keen wind piercing him, for he was of a chilly nature.
Were presentiments true ? None had ever troubled him before.
Was it a guilty conscience ? It was the first time he ever
realized he had a conscience ; or was it a w^orse demon than
either — the gloomy fiend of — indigestion ?

A sluggish liver has made men blow their brains out be-
fore now, and a dyspeptic stomach has seen ghosts. Presenti-
ments are sentimental humbugs — it's the heavy dinners at
Scarswood, and the Frendh cookery at Morecambe, combined

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

with a leaden sky, and a miserable December day. If the
infernally long day were ended, and this hour come, I should
feel all right, I know."

His host watched him curiously from the window, wander-
ing about in the storm like an unquiet spirit. Bridegrooms
may be restless as a rule on the happy day, but not such rest-
lessness as this.

" There's something on that fellow's mind," the young Sussex
squire thought. " He has the look to-day of a man who is
afraid, and I don't think he's a coward as a rule. I've thought
from the first this marriage would be a deucedly bad job, and
it's no end of a pity. She's such a trump of a girl — Httle
Kathie — no nonsense about her, you know; rides to hounds
like a born Nimrod-ess, dances like a fairy, plucky, and thor-
oughbred from top to toe. And she's going to throw herself
away on this duffer, for no reason under heaven but that he's
got a good-looking face. Hang it all ! Why did I ever fetch
him down to Morecambe, or why need Katherine Dangerfield
be such a little fool ? Who's to tell us the fellow hasn't a wife
already out in New Orleans ? "

Sometime after noon the bridegroom elect flung himself on
his bed and fell heavily asleep. He did not dream this time ;
he slept — for hours — the beneficial effect of French brandy,
no doubt. The short dark day had faded entirely out — the
candles were lit, and Squire Talbot's man stood over him ad-
juring him to rise.

" Beg parding, sir, for disturbing you, but master's borders,
sir, and it's 'alf after six, Mr. Dantree, sir, and time, master
says, to get up and dress. And master's borders, sir, is, that
I'm to bassist you."

Mr. Dantree leaped from the bed. Half-past six, and time
to dress. No more endless hours, to think and fidget, — that
was a comfort, at least.

"How's the weather, now, Lewis?" he asked. ^' Storm
held up any ? No — I see it has not— rather worse, if anything.
Where's the squire "

" In his hapartment, sir — dressing, sir. Permit me to do
that, Mr. Dantree, sir — if you please. Dinner's to be arf an
hour later than husual, sir, on this occasion — you'll 'ave just
time to dress and no more."

Lewis was an adept in his business. At half-past seven Mr.
Dantree descended to dinner in full evening suit — white waist-

140

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET,

coat, diamond studs, dress coat, shiny boots — robed for the
sacrifice !

He and the squire dined tete-a-tete. Neither ate much — both
were nervous and silent.

"What the deuce ever made me bring the fellow down?" the
squire kept thinking, moodily, casting gloomy glances athwart
the tall epergne of flowers between them. And " Will any-
thing happen after all ? " the bridegroom kept saying over and
over; "will the heiress of Scarswood be my wife to-morrow
morning, or will something prevent it at the eleventh hour, and
expose me. It would be just my usual infernal luck."

He went back to his room after dinner. They had not
lingered, and it was still only eight o'clock. A quarter before
ten would be early enough to arrive at Scarswood, and run the
gauntlet of threescore curious eyes. "I wish it were over,"
he exclaimed, aloud, almost savagely. "I wouldn't undergo
such an ordeal again for all the heiresses in Great Britain."

"It is a nervous business," a voice in the doorway re-
sponded ; "but take courage. There's many a slip, you know,
and though it wants but two hours to the time, you may escape
the matrimonial noose after all."

Gaston Dantree swung round with an oath. There, in the
doorway, stood Peter Dangerfield.

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Dantree," the lawyer said, glibly,
coming in, and shutting the door. " You don't look best pleased
to see me, but that is not to be wondered at."

" Where the devil did you spring from ? " Mr. Dantree de-
manded, angrily.

" I sprang from nowhere — I've given up gymnastics. I
drove over from Castleford, in the rain, on important business
— important business to yoii. A quarter past eight," he drew
out his watch, "and I see you are all dressed for the ceremony.
That gives us an hour and three quarters — plenty of time for
what I want you to do."

"What — you — want — me — to — do! Mr. Dangerfield, T
confess I am at a loss to — "

"To understand me — exactly — quite natural that you should
and all that. I'll explain. Circumstances have come to light
concerning Sir John Dangerfield and — well — and the young
lady you are going to marry. As a friend of yours, Mr. Dan-
tree, I consider it would be a shameful deception to let the
marriage go on while you are in ignorance of those circumstances.
Sir, you have been grossly deceived — we have all been,

THE TELLING OE THE SECRET.

141

and — but it is impossible for me to explain. Thereby hangs a
tale, and all that — which I don't wish to tell. The person who
told me is waiting at Castleford to tell you. I drove here at
once — my trap is waiting outside now. I made my way to
your room unannounced. I know the house, and I want you
to put on your hat and great-coat, and come with me to Castle-
ford at once."

Gaston Dantree stood very pale, listening to this lengthy
and rapid harangue. His presentiments were all true, then —
something was going to occur. At the last hour the glittering
prize for which he had fought and won was to be snatched
from him. His lips were set hard, and there was a dull red
glow not good to see in his black eyes. But he kept his tem-
per— under all circumstances it was the rule of his life to keep
that.

" Mr. Dangerfield," he said, " will you be so good as to open
the mysteries a little ? Your speech sounds melodramatic —
and I don't care for melo-drama off the boards. Why am I to
go to Castleford ? What are the circumstances ? Whom am
I to meet? — and how have we all been deceived ? Do you
wish to insinuate anything against Miss Dangerfield ? "

Not a word — not a syllable. She is blameless and I don't
wish to stop your marriage — Heaven forbid ! No one will wish
you joy, two hours hence, when the ceremony is over, more
sincerely than I."

Gaston Dantree looked at him, staggered a little. The mar-
riage was not to be stopped, then. He drew a long tense
breath of relief

" This is all very strange. I wish you would explain. I'll go
with you to Castleford — it will kill the intervening time as well
as anything else — but, I'd rather not go in the dark."

You must. Take my word for it, Dantree, it is necessary.
It is impossible for me to tell you — I am bound by oath.
Come with me — come ! I swear you shall be at Scarswood by
ten o'clock."

For a moment Dantree stood irresolute. Then curiosity
overcame every other feeling. He seized his hat and coat with
a slight laugh.

Be it so, then. Lead on, as they say in novels, I follow —
and my good fellow, drive like the very deuce."

He ran lightly downstairs — Peter Dangerfield followed.
There was a flush on the lawyer's sallow parchment cheeks, a
fire in his dim, near-sighted eyes, all unusual there. They met

142

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

no one. The squire was still in his " hapartment/' the servants
were busy. The gig lamps of Mr. Dangerfield's trap loomed like
two fiery eyes in the stormy blackness. Dantree leaped in,
Dangerfield followed, snatched up the reins, and sped away
like the wind.

It was a dead, silent drive. It was all Peter Dangerfield
could do to hold the reins and make his way through the double
darkness of night and storm. Gaston Dantree sat with folded
arms waiting. What was he to hear ? — where was he going ?
— whom was he to see ? A strange adventure this, surely, on a
man's wedding night.

The lights of Castleford gleamed through the sleet, the dull
cannonading of the sea on the coast came to them above the
shrieks of the wind. In five minutes they had driven up before
an inn : — the two men sprang out, a hostler .took charge of the
conveyance, and Peter Dangerfield, with a brief " This way,
Dantree," sprang swiftly up the stairs, and rapped at a door on
the first landing.

It was opened instantly, and Gaston Dantree saw — Mrs.
Vavasor.

She was magnificently dressed to-night. A rich robe of
purple silk, en iraine, swept behind her — diamonds flashed on
neck and fingers — and white perfumy roses nestled in the
glossy masses of satin black hair. The rouge bloomed its
brightest, the enamel glittered with alabaster dazzle, the almond
eyes were longer, brighter, blacker than ever, and that peculiar
smile on her squirrel-shaped mouth was never so radiant before.

" You did not expect to see me, Mr. Dantree, did you ?
You didn't know I have been in Casdeford a whole week.
And I've come for the wedding all the way from Paris. I
crossed the channel at the risk of expiring in the agonies of sea-
sickness, I braved your beastly British climate, I have buried
myself alive a whole week here, without a soul to speak to —
all — to be present at Katherine Dangerfield's wedding, if — that
wedding ever takes place."

Mr. Dantree looked at his watch, outwardly, at least, per-
fectly cool.

" It will be an accomplished fact in one hour, madame.
And there is a good old adage about its being well to wait
until you're asked — wouldn't it have been better if you had
remembered it ? Your affection for Miss Dangerfield does
credit to your head and heart, but I fear it is unreciprocated.
She loves you as Old Nick loves holy water."

THE TELLING OF THE SECRET.

143

" Nevertheless, I shall go to her wedding ; I told her so once,
and I mean to keep my word, if — as I said before — that wed-
ding ever takes place."

"Will you be kind enough to explain? "

He was quite white, but braced to meet the worst. He
looked her steadily between the eyes. She stood and returned
that gaze smiling, silent, and with a devil in either glittering
eye. For Peter Dangerfield, he stood aloof and listened.

"What a fortunate fellow you are, Gaston Dantree," Mrs.
Vavasor said, after that short pause. "You are the very hand-
somest man, I think, I ever saw ; you are the best singer off
the operatic stage I ever heard : your manners are perfect in
their insolent ease ; you are seven-and-twenty — a charming
age — and you possess what so seldom goes with beauty, un-
happily— brains. The world is your oyster, and you open it
cleverly ; you are a penniless Yankee adventurer, and a baronet's
daughter, and the heiress of eight thousand a year is waiting at
Scarswood to marry you to-night. Under what fortunate com-
bination of the planets were you born, I wonder; you don't
love this young lady you are going to marry ; but love is an
exploded idea — the stock in trade of poets and noveUsts.
People with eight thousand a year can dispense with love ; but
where the bride and groom are both penniless — oh, well ! that's
another matter."

" Mrs. Vavasor, it is after nine o'clock. Did you send for
me to listen to a homily ? If so, having heard it, allow me to
take my departure."

" Don't be in a hurry, Mr. Dantree — there's no occasion.
Ten o'clock will come, but I don't believe we'll have a wed-
ding to-night after all."

"You have said that three times! " — Gaston Dantree's eyes
were growing stern, and his mouth was set in one thin hardline
— the same thing repeated too often grows a bore. Be kind
enough, if you mean anything, to tell me what you mean."

" I will ! I mean this, my handsome Louisianian — that your
bride-elect is no more a baronet's daughter — no more Sir John
Dangerfield's heiress — than I am ! "

144

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY.

CHAPTER XIII.

MRS. vavasor's story.

r was out, and Gaston Dan tree stood for a moment
stunned, looking at the evil, smiling face of the speaker,
and absolutely unable to reply. Then —
"I don't believe it," he said slowly.
Mrs. Vavasor laughed aloud :

" You mean you don't wa7tt to believe it. It's not pleasant
for a successful adventurer. Oh, don't be offended • it's only
the name commonplace people give other people cleverer than
themselves. It's not pleasant, I say, when the golden chalice
of fortune is at our lips to see a ruthless band spill that wine of
life at our feet. It isn't pleasant for a handsome, dark-eyed
Adonis, with the face of a god and the purse of a — pauper, to
find the reputed daughter and heiress of a wealthy baronet,
whom he is going to marry, as great a pauper as himself —
greater, indeed, for she lacks the good looks that may yet
make your fortune, Mr. Dantree. It isn't pleasant, but it is
perfectly true. Sir John Dangerfield has imposed upon you —
upon his rightful heir here, Mr. Dangerfield, upon society —
passing off a girl of whose parentage he is in most absolute
ignorance, as his daughter. Don't fly into a passion, Mr. Dan-
tree, as I see you are half inclined to do — at least not with me.
I'm not afraid of you, and I'm not to blame. If you don't be-
lieve me — but I see you do — come with me to Scarswood —
Mr. Dangerfield and I are bound for the wedding — and be con-
vinced from Sir John's own lips. My shawl, if you please, Mr.
Dangerfield — Sir Peter that is to be."

He took the rich Parisian wrap and folded it gallantly around
her slim shoulders.

Gaston Dantree still stood utterly confounded — a blank feel-
ing of rage, and fury, and despair choking the passionate words
he would have said. She looked at him, and laughed again :

" Mon Dieu f he is like an incarnate thunder-cloud — black
and ferocious as a Levantine pirate, or an Alpine brigand.
Cheer up, mon amiy we won't take your bride from you — only
her fortune ; and what are a few thousands a year, more or less,
to such a devoted lover as you ? And she would go with you
to beggary. It makes a hardened woman of the world, like

MRS. VAVASOE'S STORY.

i4S

myself, absolutely young again to see such gushing and beauti-
ful devotion. I rather thought romance had gone out of fash-
ion in this year of grace, and that it was only at Covent Gar-
den we heard of ' two souls with but a single thought — two
hearts that beat as one.' But I have found out my mistake,
and think better of the world since I have known you. My
bonnet, Mr. Dangerfield — thanks. Now then, messieurs — for-
ward ! march ! I am entirely at your service."

She took Peter Dangerfield' s arm, looking backward over her
shoulder at the black, marble figure of the bridegroom, like the
smiling vixen she was.

" Come, Gaston, mon brave" she said ; though you lose
an heiress, you need not lose a bride. We will be but a few
minutes late after all. Come — away ! "

She ran lightly down the stairs, humming, with a face of ma-
hcious dehght, " Haste to the Wedding."

The hour for which she had hungered and thirsted for years
and years had come — the hour of her vengeance. " Revenge
is sweet — particularly to a woman," singeth my Lord Byron,
and he had hit truth as well as poetry when he said it. A man
sometimes spares his enemy — a woman will forgive a man
seventy times seven, but one woman will spare another — never !

Gaston Dantree followed. His lips Avere set in a,n expres-
sion no one who beheld him this night had ever seen before ;
his dark eyes were lurid with rage, disappointment, and fury,
his dusky face savage and set. All his presentiments were ful-
filled— more than fulfilled. At the worst he had not dreamed of
anything half so bad as this. He believed what he had heard —
there was that in Mrs. Vavasor's face and voice, with all their
malice, that showed she spoke the truth. For the second time
he had been foiled — in the very hour of his triumph. A de-
moniacal rage filled him — against this woman, against the bar-
onet, against Katherine, against himself

" W1iat a dolt — what an ass I have been ! " he muttered in-
audibly, grinding his teeth ; " what a laughing-stock I shall be !
But, by Heaven ! if I am to lose a fortune, Katherine Danger-
field shall lose a husband. It's one thing to risk Newgate for
an heiress, but I'll see all the portionless, adopted daughters
this side of the infernal regions at the bottom of the bottomless
pit, before I'll risk it for one of t^iem ! "

And then Mr. Dantree folded his arms in sullen silence, and
let things take their course. He knew^ the worst — he had put
his fate to the test, and lost it all. Nothing remained but to see
7

146

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY.

the play played out, to pack his trunk, and at once seek fresh
fields and pastures new.

The night was black as Erebus ; the cold, cutting sleet still
beat, the wind still blew. The street lamps flared and flickered
in the soughs of wind — the shops of the town were shut — lights
twinkled pleasantly behind closed blinds. Mrs. Vavasor sat
behind him muffled in her wraps — a demoniacal desire to pitch
her headlong out of the trap was strong upon Mr. Dantree.

" Little devil ! " he thought, looking at her savagely under
rover of the darkness. " She knew it all along and waited for
this melo-dramatic climax. It's your turn now, Mrs. Vavasor;
when the wheel revolves and mine comes, I'll remember this
dark nighf s work ! "

Not one word was spoken until the lights of Scarswood came
in sight. Gaston Dantree' s heart was full of passionate bitter-
ness, as the huge gate lamps hove in view. And to-morrow all
this might have been his.

" Curse the luck !" he thought. "I might have known that
blasted old harridan. Fortune, could have nothing so good in
store for a step-son like me."

They whirled up under the frowning stone arch — up under
the black, rocking trees. The whole long front of the old man-
sion was brilliant with illumination. The great portico entrance
stood wide ; they saw Squire Talbot and Captain De Vere
come out with anxious faces ; they saw Miss Talbot in her^^
white festal robes float down the black, oaken stairway.

" All waiting for the bridegroom ! " Mrs. Vavasor said, with
her habitual short laugh. " Do you go forward, Mr. Danger-
field, and reheve their anxiety. We follow."

Peter Dangerfield sprang up the steps— never in all his life
before half so nimbly. And Edith Talbot flitted forward to
him, smiling, but with an anxious quiver in her voice.
• " Oh, come ye in peace, or come ye in v/ar, or to dance at
our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ? Mr. Dangerfield, 7i>hei^e
is Mr. Dantree ?"

" Mr. Dantree is here."
^ He spoke very quietly, but what hidden delight gleamed in
his small pale eyes ! If they only knew ! He stepped on one
side, and Gaston Dantree and Mrs. Vavasor, stood revealed.

One glance at the bridegroom's face, and blank silence fell.
What had happened ? Surely never bridegroom, from Adam
down, wore so black and gloomy a scowl on his wedding night !

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY,

147

Edith Talbot recoiled with clasped hands, her brother and the
captain of the Plungers stood looking at him aghast.

" By Jove, Dantree," the gallant captain managed to stam-
mer at last. ''You look awfully cut up, you know. What the
deuce is the row? Don't you know you're behind time, man,
and — I say, old boy ! I hope nothing serious is the matter,
you know ? "

" Something serious is the matter," Peter Dangerfield made
answer gravely, for the gentleman addressed only scowled a lit-
tle more blackly ; " and we wish to see Sir John immediately-
Miss Talbot, we are going to the library — will you tell my un-
cle to join us there? And if you can keep Katherine out of
the way for the next half hour, perhaps it will be as well."

He led the way to the library, his two companions after him
— Mr. Dantree stalking along like a specter.

The vast and spacious library was brilliantly lit by a cluster
of waxlights and the flicker of a dying fire. Shadows crouched
darkly in the corners, and the bloody hand shone vividly in the
escutcheon over the mantel. The long silken curtains were
undrawn ; outside by a faint lighting in the northern sky, the
tossing, wind-blown trees, the slanting sweep of the rain could
be seen. Outside there was the uproar of the storm — inside
dead stillness reigned.

Peter Dangerfield took a seat deep in the shadow of the vast
Maltese window, and looked around the lofty and noble room
as he had never looked before.

The dark walls lined with books from ceiling to floor, the
busts, the bronzes, the pictures, and the heav3^-carved old furni-
ture. One day all this would be his — one day — one day !

There was a luxurious fauteuil drawn up before the fire ; into
this Mrs. Vavasor sank, throwing back her wet wrap. Mr.
Dantree stood near, his elbow on the mantel, his dark angry
eyes fixed on the fire, his mouth set under his black mustache,
stern and grim. There was neither pity nor mercy in his heart
for the girl who loved him. He had not been spared — why
should he spare ? He had never loved her — he hated her in
this hour.

So he waited — how long he never "knew — full of silent, sullen
fury, all the more dangerous from this outward quiet. And then
th& door opened, and Sir John Dangerfield came in.

If he had not known before he entered, he knew, the mo-
ment his eyes rested upon them, all that had happened.

His secret was told — this woman had played him false. Peter

148

MRS, VAVASOR'S STORY.

Dangerfield knew he was heir-at-law — Gaston Dantree knew
Katherine was not his daughter. The murder was out.

He drew a long breath — absolutely a breath of intense relief.
He had dreaded this hour unutterably — he had stooped to decep-
tion— to falsehood and bribery, for the first time in all his brave
life, to avert it ; and now, that it had come, he thanked Heaven.
He could breathe freely and face his fellow men again — he
could hold his head erect among his peers once more. His
great love had made him a coward — his life had been unspeak-
ably miserable under the burden of the secret he dared not tell.
But another had told it in spite of him — he was free ! He
flung back his head proudly, and walked into their midst with
his firm, soldierly step and stately, bearing, and stood directly
opposite Gaston Dantree. The Southerner lifted his gloomy
eyes, and the gaze of the two men met — steady, stern, unflinch-
ingly.

"You are late, Mr. Dantree," the baronet said, coldly and
briefl)^ " You pay your bride a poor compliment by keeping
her waiting on her bridal eve."

" I greatly doubt, Sir John, whether there will be either bride
or bridal to-night. Certainly, before Miss Dangerfield — if there
be any such person — becomes Mrs. Dantree, you will clear up
a little statement of Mrs. Vavasor's. She tells us the young
lady you have palmed upon us as your daughter and heiress, is
— who is she. Sir John Dangerfield ? "

The baronet turned his eyes for the first time upon the little
figure in the arm-chair.

" You have broken faith with me, Harriet Harman. You
took my money, and meant to betray me."

I took your money and meant to betray you ? Yes ! I
would not have forfeited my revenge for three times the
money."

" I might have known it. Then you have told these two
men — all ? "

" I have told them nothing as yet, save the bare fact that
Katherine is not your daughter. Mr. Dantree did me the honor
to disbelieve me — it isn't for his interest, you see, as it is for
your nephew's, to believe it ; so I brought them here to relate
the story in your presence. They can't very well refuse to
credit it then. And, as I still trust, the wedding will go oh,"
with her most satirical smile ; "and as I don't wish to keep
poor little Kathie waiting any longer than is absolutely neces-
sary, I will begin at once. If my memory fails me in any

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY,

149

minor particular, Sir John, or if any of my statements are in-
correct, you will be good enough to set me right. Messieurs
Dantree and Dangerfield, listen ! "

She folded her hands, looked into the ruddy coals, and be-
gan.

" It's so long ago — so long — so long — it makes one's hair
gray only to look back. It's fifteen years, my hearers, since the
express train from Rouen to Paris bore among its passengers
one day a woman and a child — a little girl of two. They were
very poor — very shabby, and traveled third class. By the same
train traveled likewise, to Paris, an EngUsh officer, his lady,
and little daughter, also aged two years or thereabouts. The
English officer was under marching orders for India, and was
going to sail with his interesting family in a very few days.

"But man proposes — French railway trains sometimes dis-
pose, and very unpleasantly. A cattle train came along — there
was a mistake somewhere, and worse, — there was a collision.
Crash ! crash ! — away we went ! Something hit the poor little
woman, traveUng third class, on the head, and she knew no more.

"She opened her eyes next in a hospital, very weak, one
great pain from head to foot, but quite conscious and likely to
live. Her first question was for the child — dead or alive !

" ' Alive,' the gentle-faced sister of charity said, ' and well,
and uninjured ; and, if I were willing to dispose of it in a fair
way, to make its fortune for life.'

" ' How ? ' I asked.

" In this way : An English officer and his lady, traveling in
the same unfortunate express train, had had their child killed
— killed instantly by that terrible colHsion. The officer and
his lady had escaped unhurt — they were wild with grief, but re-
membered their fellow-sufferers through it all. The baby was
buried in Pere la Chaise., poor angel ! and monsieur le officer
and his lady came daily to the hospital to see their fellow-suf-
ferers. Here they had seen me, here they had been shown ray
child — scantily clad, thin, pale, half-fed — an object of compas-
sion to gods and men. And its little, wan, pathetic, suffering,
patient face went straight to that desolate spot in their hearts.
I was very poor — what could I do with it ? They would adopt
it, bring it up as their own, give it their name, their love, and
make an elegant English young lady of a little nameless, ragged
waif and stra}^

" I listened to all this — too weak to say much, and when
next the English officer and his lady visited the hospital, heard

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY,

them repeat the same arguments. My answer was ready : If
they would give me two hundred pounds, cash down — I was
very moderate — they might take the infant for good, to India
or the North Pole, and do with her as they would.

" My ready acquiescence, my business-like way of putting
things, rather took them aback — rather shocked the paternal
instinct of my Englishman. He looked at me with distrustful
eyes, and asked if I were really the child's mother. It would
have been more politic, I dare say, to have said yes, but I
couldn't say it. I hated that child — I had hated its mother —
and some of that hatred looked out of my eyes at him, and
made him recoil.

" 'She's not my child,' I said ; ' I tell you the truth. She's
not mine, but she belongs to me. Never mind how — never
mind anything about her, except that you may take her if you
like — on my terms. If you don't like them, no harm done —
some one else will. Two hundred pounds down, good English
gold, and take her away out of my sight. I'll never trouble
you any more about her, and no one else ever will. Now do
as you like.' And then I shut my lips and my eyes, and waited.

" The answer was what I expected — the mother had taken a
fancy to the little one, and my Englishman only lived to gratify
every fancy of his wife. They would pay the two hundred
down, and would take the child. In India she and I were
never likely to meet again. What was my name ?
- *' * Harriet Harman.'

" That was the name I gave. Whether or no it were mine,
is nobody's business here.

" ' And the child's name — what was that ?^

" ' Harriet Harman, too. But if they meant to adopt her,
they had better re-christen her — after the little cherub gone up
aloft, for instance.'

"We closed the bargain. I got the two hundred pounds
and signed the receipt ; I have it yet. I laughed as I sold the
child, and got my price. It was the first installment of my
vengeance — this is the second. What would her mother say,
I thought, if she could only have been informed of this trans-
action.

"They took the child away. I wanted her to shake hands
with me, but she wouldn't. If you'll believe me, at two years
old she wouldn't. And I hadn't treated her badly. She clung
to Mrs. Dangerfield's skirts, and wouldn't so much as look at
me.

MRS, VAVASOR'S STORY.

" * Good-by, then, ma petite^ I said : ' I don't mind the shake
hands. Go to India and be happy. If we ever meet again,
perhaps you'll think better of it, and shake hands again.'

" My English officer and his lady came again, and again, and
again to me, to induce me to speak and tell little Katherine's
antecedents — (they named her Katherine at once, after the
little angel crushed to jelly). They offered me another hundred,
and they could illy spare it, but all the gold in the Bank of Eng-
land would not have made me open my lips until my own time
came. I wouldn't tell, and I haven't told, and I don't mean to
tell until I choose.

" Katherine Dangerfield's father and friends live, but who
they are no power on earth shall ever wring from me.

" They took her to India, and for fifteen years I lost sight of
the little one. But it was not out of sight out of mind — I never
quite lost her. My life was a wandering one — a hard one often
— but on the whole not an unpleasant one. I made money and
spent money — I pitched my tent in every Continental city, and
at last, one day in Paris, I picked up an English paper, and
read there how Sir Everard Dangerfield, of Scars wood, sixth
baronet of the name, was dead, and how Sir John Dangerfield,
late of her Majesty's Honorable East India Company's service,
had succeeded to the title and estates. Sir John and his only
child. Miss Katherine Dangerfield, were expected in England
by the first steamer.

" Here was news 1 Here was a lift in the world for la petite.
I made inquiries about this Scarswood park ; I found out it
had a rent-roll of eight thousand a year, strictly entailed to the
nearest of kin, whether male or female ; I found out Sir John
had a nephew in the place, who, lacking heirs on Sir John's part,
was heir-at-law ; I found out that the prevailing belief was that
the young lady coming from India was really Sir John's daugh-
ter ; I found out that the death of the child in the French rail-
way accident, fifteen years before, was a dead secret. Mrs.
Dangerfield had died very soon after her arrival in India, and
Sir John alone was the possessor of the secret, excepting always
that he had not told missy herself.

" I read the English papers after that — your English papers
that chronicle everything your great men and your little men do.
I read how Sir John and Miss Dangerfield had arrived, how they
had gone down to Scarswood, how bells had rung, and bonfires
blazed, and tenantry cheered, and old friends trooped to wel-
come them. They had Hked Sir Everard, but Sir Everard was

152

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY.

gone, and it was of course, ' The king is dead — live the
king.'

"Sir John had taken possession, and I set the detective
pohce at work to find out what I wanted to know. I found it
out, neither missy herself nOr any living being dreamed she was
other than the baronet's daughter.

" My time had corae^ — my fortune was made ; I wrote my
baronet a letter ; I told him I was coming ; I bade him call
me Mrs. Vavasor. It's a pretty name, an aristocratic name, and
I have retained it ever since. And as soon as ever I could
raise the money, for it was one of my impoverished seasons, I
took the train and started.

" That was last September. Miss Dangerfield had just met
Mr. Dan tree, only three months ago ; but what would you ?
We live in a rapid age, a breathless age of steam and electric
telegraphs,' and love no longer flies with old-fashioned wings,
but speeds along by lightning express. Miss Dangerfield was
just seventeen — a feverish and impressionable age — of a sus-
ceptible and romantic turn of mind, superinduced by a surfeit
of poetry and novels, and she meets a young man, well-dressed,
well-mannered, and handsomer than anything out of a frame.
He's only Gaston Dantree, a good singer, and a penny-a-Hner ;
but in her rose-colored imagination he is set up as a demi-god,
and she falls down and worships him. It's the way of her sex,
and he takes all the worship as his right and due — the way of
/lis sex — and keeps a bright lookout for the eight thousand a year.

" Well — I come. I find missy grown up tall, slim, spirited,
proud, and not pretty. I find her like her mother, her mother
whose memory I hate to-night, as I hated herself twenty years
ago — I find her, like her mother, resolute, passionate, self-willed,
and utterly spoiled. She has no thought that she is other than
she seems. She is in love, and determined to be married.
Best of all, the man she loves is penniless, not the least in the
world in love with her, only bent heart and soul on her fortune.
Here is a glorious chance for me !

" Miss l3angerfield, from the uplifted heights whereon petted
heiresses dwell, does not deign to tolerate me. From the first
she abhors me, and she is a good hater. She does not remem-
ber me, of course ; she doesn't know what good reason she has
to be my enemy, but she hates me with an honest, open, hearty
hatred that is absolutely refreshing. She snubs me upon every
occasion — she implores her father to give me money if I want
it, and turn me out of doors. If I didn't owe her mother that

MRS. VAVASOR'S STORY,

old grudge I should be forced to owe her one on her own ac-
count.

" And Sir John does turn me out. Poor old soldier — it's
a little hard on him. He want's to do right — deception and
secrecy are foreign to his nature— but how can he ? He idol-
izes this girl ; it will half kill her he knows to hear the truth ; it
will part her from her lover, break her heart, and make her hate
him — unjustly, no doubt ; but when was ever a woman just ?
And he clings to his secret with desperate tenacity, and pays me
ten thousand pounds to keep it inviolate, and bids me go and
return no more.

"I take the money — whoever refuses money? — and I go,
hit to return. I go to Paris, ever-gracious, ever-fascinating
Paris; I enjoy myself and I wait. And in England meantime
the lovers bill and coo, and the sword that hangs .over their
head, upheld by a single hair, they don't see.

" One week before the wedding day, I come quietly and un-
ostentatiously to Castleford. I go to Peter Dangerfield in his
lodgings ; poor Mr. Peter, who doesn't dream he is wronged.
I find him alone, gloomy and solitary this Christmas Eve, while
over at Scarswood waxlights burn, and yulefires blaze, and Mr.
Dantree kisses his bride-elect under the mistletoe, and music
and merriment reign. I find him alone and very gloomy ; he is
thinking how this cruel Katherine jilted him and called him a
rickety dwarf — how a dreary life of legal labor lies before him,
and Scarswood will go to Gaston Dantree and his children.
He is thinking all this over his bachelor glass of grog, when I
appear before him like the fairy god-mother I am, and with one
wave of my wand, lo ! all things change. The haughty heiress
falls from her pedestal, and he becomes the heir ! Scarswood
will be his and his alone when Sir John dies. Pearls and dia-
monds drop from my lips, and he promises in a burst of gener-
osity^ that the ten thousand pounds reward I ask shall gladly be
mine.

" And the wedding night arrives, and we come out of the
seclusion in which we have chosen to hide into the light of day.
He goes for the bridegroom — he brings him to me through night,
and storm, and darkness, and I tell him the truth. 1 tell him
Katherine Dangerfield (so called) is no more your daughter,
no more your heiress than I am : I tell him he has been grossly
deceived from first to last. He does not believe me — poor
young man ; it is not a pleasant thing to believe. Then I
bring him here again through night, and storm, and darkness,
7*

154

JDAY OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF!

braving all things for the noble sake of truth, and I repeat be-
fore your face what I said behind your back, Sir John, and dare
you to deny it. I repeat that the girl who calls you father is
no more your daughter or heiress than — "

She stopped short and rose up. Among the shadows at the
lower end of the room a darker shadow flickered.

A door had softly opened, a curtain had hidden the unseen
listener until now.

A white hand pushed back the drapery — a white face emerged
into the light.

It was the bride herself, in her shining robe, and orange
wreath, and silvery vail, standing there and hearing every word.

CHAPTER XIV.

DAY OF WRATH ! DAY OF GRIEF !

HERE was dead silence. All eyes fell upon her at
once ; all rose as she came gliding forward. Pas-
sionate, impetuous, impulsive, what would she say—
what would she do ?
In that dead silence she conies floating forward, a shining
bridal vision — whiter than the robe she wore — white, cold, calm.
In all her life this girl had never restrained one single emotion
— now in the supreme hour of her life her pale face was as emo-
tionless as though carved in stone.

She came straight up to Sir John and looked him full in the
face with her large, solemn eyes.

" I have been there since you came in " — she pointed to the
curtained recess, and her voice had neither falter nor tremor.
" And I have heard every word. Is it all true ?"

He turned away from her and covered his face with his hands
with a sort of dry sobbing sound hard to hear.

" Is it all true ? " she repeated, slowly, painfully. I want
to know the worst."

"Then Heaven help me ! Yes, Katherine, it is all true — all
^all ! "

"And I am not your daughter? "

" You are not ! Oh, my darling, forgive me. If X had

DAY OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF t

155

loved you less I might have had courage to tell you the
truth."

Her face had never changed from its stony calm, her dark,
dilated eyes never left his.

" And this is the secret this woman has held over you so long ;
the secret I begged you to tell, and you would not — that I am
not your child ? "

" It is ! Once more forgive me, Katherine ! "

She lifted his worn, thin hand in both her own and kissed it.
There can be no such word between you and me, papa.
I only reahze now how much I owe you — how infinitely good
you have been to me. You have been better to me than any
father ever was to a child before, and I — how have I repaid
you ? But I wish I had known — I wish I had known. . Mr.
Dan tree " — she turned to him for the first time ; for the first time
the brave voice faltered — " what have you to say to all this ? "

"That I have been grossly deceived," Mr. Dantree an-
swered, lifting his gloomy eyes with sullen anger ; " grossly
deceived from first to last."

"But not by me. Do me at least that poor justice. And
now " — she slowly drew nearer to him — " how is it to be ? You
swore you loved me, and me alone. Now is the time to prove
your truth."

He stood sulkily silent, shifting away, however, from the gaze
of those solemn, searching eyes.

The spectators looked on — Mrs. Vavasor with a face of tri-
umphant, malicious delight, Peter Dangerfield full of vengeful
exultation, and the old baronet with eyes beginning to flash
ominously. The silver shining figure of the bride stood on the
hearth-rug, the dull red glow of the cinders lighting her luridly
up, waiting for her false lover's answer.

It did not come ; after that one fleeting glance, he stood star-
ing doggedly into the fire.

" I am answered," Katherine said ; " and all the warnings I
received were right. 1 might have known it ; I was a fool, and
I am only reaping a fool's reward. It was the heiress of Scars-
wood you wanted ; the eight thousand a year you loved — not
plain Katherine Dangerfield. Take your ring, Mr. Dantree,
and thank Heaven — as I do — that truth has come to light an
hour before our marriage instead of an hour after. Take your
ring, and go ! "

She drew it off and held it out to himv

He started up as if to obey.

156 * DAY OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF I

" Curse the ring ! " he exclaimed ferociously ; throw it into
the fire if you like. / don't want anything to remind me of
this night's work. I say again/' raising his voice, I have been
shamefully tricked and deceived. I'm a great deal more thank-
ful than you can possibly be that the truth has come out in
time. ABd now, as I suppose everything has been said that it
is necessary to say, I may take my departure at once, and for
all."

He seized his hat, and strode toward the door. But the tall,
soldierly figure of the baronet interposed.

" Stop, sir ! " he thundered, in that ringing voice that had often
cheered his men to fiercest battle ; " all has not been said that
it is necessary to say. Do you mean that this revelation shall
prevent the marriage ? that, in a word, you refuse to marry my
adopted daughter, because she is not the heiress of Scarswood?"

Gaston Dan tree met the old soldier's fiery, flashing glance
with sullen defiance.

" Precisely, Sir John ; I refuse to marry your adopted daugh-
ter either to-night or at any future time. It was the heiress of
Scarswood I wanted, not the plain young lady who, if she will
pardon my saying it, made such very hard running upon me
that—"

He never finished the sentence. With the cry and spring of
a tiger the Indian officer was upon him — all the strength of his
youth back in his rage.

" Coward ! liar ! villain ! " he thundered, grasping him by
the throat. "Cur! that it were slander to call man. Lie
there ! "

He grasped him by the throat, lifting the short, light form as
though it were a child of three years, flung open the door —
dragged him out on the landing, and with all the fury and might
of madness, hurled him crushing down the oaken stairs.

Mrs. Vavasor's shrieks rang through the house — Peter Dan-
gerfield rushed headlong down the stairs. With a dull thud
bad to hear, Dan tree had fallen on the oaken floor, and lay a
bloody, mutilated heap now.

The uproar had roused the house ; guests, servants, brides-
maids, all came flocking wildly out into the hall. Peter Danger-
field had lifted the head of the prostrate man to his knee, and
was gazing into the death-like face, almost as death-like himself.

" Is he dead ? "

Captain De Vere asked the question, pressing impetuously
through the throng. No one in that supreme hour asked what

DRY OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF !

had happened ; instinctively all seemed to know he had refused,
at the last moment, to marry Katherine Dangerfield.

The dark head moved a little, a faint moan of pain came
from the livid lips. It was a terrible sight. From a tremen-
dous gash above the temple the bright blood gushed, over face,
and bosom, and hands.

"Not dead," Peter Dangerfield answered, in a very subdued
voice. " De Vere, Graves and Otis are here somewhere, are
they not? Send them along like a good fellow, and try and
disperse this crowd, in Heaven's name. They may as well go
— you see we're not going to have a wedding to-night."

Captain De Vere turned to obey — then paused. There was
a shrill woman's cry from above — in whose voice no one knew.

" Send for the doctor ! Quick ! quick ! Sir John is in a fit ! "

There was the sound of a heavy fall — of a stifled groan in
one of the upper rooms, then the cries of frantic women, the
rapid hurrying of excited feet. Peter Dangerfield lifted his
eyes from the ghastly, gory face. on his knee, and glanced
darkly up.

"The plot thickens," he muttered. "Another fit! And
the doctors warned him to take care — that a second might
prove fatal. I am Peter Dangerfield to-night, and verily a man
of little account. When the first sun of the New Year rises, I
may be the richest baronet in Sussex ! "

Out of the frightened throng of wedding guests two men
made their way — Dr. Graves, of Castleford, and his clever as-
sistant, Mr. Henry Otis.

"You had best go upstairs, Dr. Graves, and see to Sir
John," Sir John's nephew said, with grave authority. In this
crisis of his life he seemed to rise with the occasion and take
his place naturally as next in command. " Otis, look at this
poor fellow, while I go and help De Vere to send these people
to the right about."

Somewhere in Peter Dangerfield' s narrow head, talent, un-
suspected heretofore, must have been stowed away. He was
great on this night. He got the excited, alarmed, and demor-
alized flock of well-dressed wedding guests together in the spa-,
cious drawing-rooms, and made them a grave little speech.

"Ladies and gentlemen, friends and neighbors," Mr. Dan-
gerfield began in his piping little voice : " dreadful and un-
expected revelations have come to light to-night. Mr. Dantree
in the basest manner has refused to fulfill his contract — has
absolutely refused to marry — Miss Dangerfield." The infinite

158 OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF t

relish and delight with which the speaker said this was known
only to himself. I call her Miss Dangerheld still, although
she has really no right to that name. We have all been de-
ceived. She is not Sir John's daughter. WTio she is he knows
no more than you do. It was her fortune this dastardly ad-
venturer d||ni Louisiana sought ; when he found that forfeit he
refused in most insolent language to marry her. Sir John
threw him down the stairs. If he is killed, it only serves him
right. Sir John himself is in a fit of apoplexy. Under these
sad circumstances I really must beg of you to leave us. Scars-
wood, from a house of wedding joy, has become a house of
mourning. Leave us, my friends — it is all you can do for us *
now."

Mr. Dangerfield put his handkerchief to his eyes in eloquent
silence. And, awed and terrified, the bridal company dis-
persed : only Squire Talbot and his sister, and the captain of
the Plungers Purple lingered in the stricken house.

Katherine Dangerfield not Katherine Dangerfield ! — a nobody
imposed upon them, the resident gentry of the county ! Some-
thing of imagination mingled with the amaze and horror of the
night's tragedy as these good people drove home under the
inky, midnight sky. And if Gaston Dantree died, they won-
dered, would the law really hang a baronet ?

Peter Dangerfield lingered in the dining-room until the last
carriage rolled away. And then what an awful silence fell upon
the great house. Flowers bloomed everywhere, countless wax-
lights flashed upon the brilliant scene — a temporary altar, all
roses and jessamine, stood in the center of the room, and on
the painted windows the Bloody Hand burned into the glass,
gleamed redly out in the dazzling light. And upstairs the lord
of all this grandeur and luxury lay dying, perhaps — and he was
the next of kin ! Peter Dangerfield strode hastily to the grand
banqueting room, where the wedding feast was spread. Massive
old silver, all bearing the Dangerfield crest and motto, weighed
it down, crystal glittered in rainbow hues, flowers were here and
everywhere.

"And to-morrow," he thought, with secret exultation, all
this may be mine."

He poured out a glass of wine and drank it. As he replaced
it a cold hand was laid upon his — a low voice spoke in his ear.

"I'll take another, if you please ; my nerves are horribly
shaken. I saw Gaston Dantree's face." She shuddered as she
said it, " Good Heavens I what a night this has been."

£>AY OF WRATH I DAY OF GRIEF f 159
He turned and saw Mrs. Vavasor.

" You here still ! " he said, in no very gracious tone. She
had done him good service, but the service was done, and like
all of his kind, he was ready to fling her aside. " I
shouldn't think you would want to stay under this roof any
longer than you can help — you of all people. If^hese two
men die to-night, I wonder if their ghosts will haunt you.
You talk about nerves, forsooth ! Here, drink this and go.
Scarswood's no place for you."

" Grateful, my Peter," murmured Mrs. Vavasor, as she took
the glass ; " but I scarcely expected anything better. I can
dispense even with your gratitude while I hold your promise to
pay ten thousand down, remember, the very day that makes
you Sir Peter."

"You shall have it. Go, in Heaven's name ! Don't let
that girl — Katherine, you know — see you, or I believe we'll
have a second tragedy before the night is over."

He left her as he spoke. On the threshold he turned to say
a last word.

" Drive the trap back to your quarters in Castleford. I'll see
you to-morrow, let things end which way they will. I'm going
to Sir John now. Go at once — good-night ! "

He ascended to the baronet's room. Dr. Graves was
there, Katherine and Miss Talbot. The stricken soldier had
been laid upon his bed, undressed, and everything done for him
that it was possible to do. He lay rigid and stark, his heavy
breathing the only sign of life.

"Well?" Peter Dangerfield said the word in a strained,
tense sort of voice, and looked with eager, burning eyes at the
medical man.

"I can give no definite answer as yet, Mr. Dangerfield,"
Dr. Graves answered coldly, and turning his back upon him.

Peter Dangerfield drew a long breath. Death was written on
every line of that ghastly, bloodless face. After a brief five
months' reign. Sir John lay dying — dying childless, and he was
heir-at-law !

He looked furtively at Katherine. She was standing motion-
less at the foot of the bed, gazing on that rigid form. She had
removed nothing — not a flower — not a jewel — not even her
gloves — vail, laces, and silk still floated about her. Her face
kept its changeless calm — her eyes their still, frozen look. It
was horrible — it was fearful ! He turned away with a shiver,-
and softly quitted the room.

l6o J^^y OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF!

" Of all the ways in which I thought she would take it, I
never thought of this," he said to himself " Are all women
like her, or is she unlike all women ? I never understood her —
to-night I understand her least of all."

It was midnight now. He paused a moment at the oriel
window to look out at the night. The storm had expended its
fury, the rain and sleet had ceased. A wild north wind was
blowing ; it was turning bitterly cold. Up above, the storm-
drifts were scudding before the gale, a few frosty stars glim-
mered, and a wan moon lifted its palHd face out of the distant
sea. The New Year gave promise of dawning brilliant and
bright.

" And this was to have been her wedding day, and the bride-
groom lies dying down-stairs. I would not spare her one pang
if I could, but I must own it's hard on her."

He went softly down the long stairway, and into the lower
room where they had borne Gaston Dantree. Mr. Otis was
with him still, and Talbot and De Vere.

" Is he dead ? " Mr. Dangerfield demanded.

He looked like it. They had washed away the blood, and
bound up the wound. He lay with his eyes closed, and breath-
ing faintly ; but, dead and in his coffin, Gaston Dantree would
never look more awfully corpse-like than now.

Mr. Otis lifted his quiet eyes.

" Not dead, Mr. Dangerfield — not even likely to die, so far
as I can see. What is to be done with him ? — what — "

He stopped and recoiled, for into their midst a white figure
glided, and straight up to the wounded man. It was Kathe-
rine. Everywhere she went, that shining, bride like figure
seemed to contradict the idea of death. Her eyes had a fixed,
sightless sort of stare — like the eyes of a sleep-walker ; her face
was the hue of snow. Noiseless, soundless, like a spirit she
moved in her white robes, until she stood beside the man she
had loved, looking down upon him as he lay.

The man she had loved ? He had treated her brutally —
worse than man ever treated woman before, but there was no
anger in her face or heart. There was not sorrow, there was
not even pity — all feeling seemed numb and dead within her.
She only stood and looked at him with a sort of weary wonder.
Three hours ago he had been so full of life, of youth, of strength,
of beauty, and now he lay more helpless than a new-born child.
What a narrow step divided death from life.

The four men stood silent, awe-stricken. She neither

DAY OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF! i5i

seemed to heed nor see them. Mr. Otis smnmoned corn-age
at last to approach and speak.

"Miss Dangerfield," he said with grave respect, "you should
not be here. This is no sight for you. Let Mr. Dangerheld
lead you back to your father."

She lifted her heavy eyes, and seemed to see him for the first
time.

"Will he die?"

" I hope not — I trust not. But you must not be here when
he recovers consciousness."

"What do you mean to do with him?" she asked, in the
same low monotone. " He cannot stay here. Will you take
him away ? "

He looked at her doubtfully.

"Take him — where ? To the hospital, do you mean ? "

" No, not to the hospital. I should rather you did not take
him there. Can he be removed without much danger ? "

" Well — yes ; if he is removed at once."

" Then — Mr. Otis, will you do me a favor ? "

"Anything in my power, Miss Dangerfield."

"Then take him to your own house. It is a great favor I
ask, but you will do it I know. The expense shall be mine.
I don't want him to die." A slight shudder passed over her as
she said it; "and there is no one else I can ask. Will you do
this for me ? "

She laid her hand on his arm, and looked at him. A great
compassion filled his heart for this girl, so cruelly bereaved
through no fault of her own. He could not refuse.

" It shall be done. I will have him removed immediately,
and if he dies it will be no fault of mine."

" I knew I might trust you. If it is possible, I will go there
and see him. He must not die, Mr. Otis — he must notr A
sudden swift gleam came into her dead eyes. " He must re-
cover, and he must leave here. Take him at once, and thank
you very much."

Then the tall white figure flitted away and was gone, and
the four men stood confounded and looked blankly into each
other's startled eyes.

"What does she mean?" De Vere asked. "What does she
want the scoundrel to recover for ? Egad ! the only creditable
thing he has ever done in the world will be his leaving it."

"It is for her father's sake, doubtless," suggested Squire
Talbot,

1 62 OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF t

" Nothing of the sort," interrupted Peter Dangerfield. " She
wants Dantree to recover for her own. If she has entirely done
with him I'm greatly nistaken. I wouldn't stand in Dan tree's
shoes when he recovers for the crown of England. She is in an
unnatural state just now — she'll awake after a little and be all
the more terrible for her present calm. What will your
mother say, Otis, when you turn her house into a private
hospital ? "

" Whatever I do is good and admirable in my mother's eyes.
I will trouble you, Mr. Dangerfield, to order the carriage, and
the quietest horse in the stable. Every moment we lose now is
of vital importance."

Mr. Dangerfield obeyed. The carriage was brought round,
the wounded man, carefully covered from the cold, raw night
air, carried out, and laid among the cushions. Squire Talbot,
with little love for the stricken man, yet accompanied the assist-
ant into Castleford. Gaston Dantree had been his guest, and
though, after his base and dastardly conduct to-night, he could
never again cross the threshold of Morecambe, he still felt
bound to see him safely to his destination.

Captain De Vere remained behind at Scarswood, at the solic-
itation of Mr. Dangerfield. He could not return to his
lodgings while things were in this uncertain state, neither could
he remain alone. How would this night end?' Would Sir
John recover again, or would the New Year morning, breaking
already, see him lord of this noble domain ?

And upstairs, in the sick chamber, the dim night lamp flick-
ered, and only the ticking of the clock sounded in the dead
hush. Sir John lay motionless. Dr. Graves sat beside him, his
wrist between his fingers, counting the beating of that sinking
pulse. An eminent physician had been telegraphed for to Lon-
don, but it was more than doubtful if he would find the baronet
alive upon his arrival And if Gaston Dantree died, would it
not be as well so ?

Beside him, at the foot of the bed, looking like the ghost of
some dead bride in that spectral light, Katherine sat. She
sat quite motionless, her eyes rarely leaving the face upon the
pillow, her hands clasped on her lap, her face like marble.

At one fell swoop" she had lost all — all ! home, friends, fort-
une, lover, father, name, and yet it is doubtful if in these first
hours she suffered much. She could not realize it yet — the
suddenness and horror of the blow had stunned her ; hysterics
and tears and woman's uttermost agony might come hereafter

jDAY of WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF! 163

— now she sat still and calm. Her heart lay like a stone in
her bosom, a dull heavy pain throbbed ceaselessly in her head,
but her misery was tearless and dumb.

Dr. Graves, watching her uneasily and furtively, wondered
what manner of woman this girl was. So unlike all others he
had ever known, sitting here without one cq^mplaint, one sob,
one cry of pain, with her bridegroom lost to her on her bridal
night, the father who had adored her dying before her eyes.

And while the night light flickered, and the two pale watchers
sat mutely there, the bright wintry sun arose — the happy New
Year had begun. As its first rays stole in between the closed
curtains, the sick man's eyes opened, and he rallied a little.
His glance fell upon Katherine, a swift gleam of intelligence
lit his eyes, his lips moved, and a few incoherent words came
forth. In an instant she was bending above him, her ear to his
lips.

" Darling papa ! yes, what is it ? "

He strove hard to speak, but again only that muttered, inco-
herent sound. But the girl's quick ear had caught three words :

"Indian cabinet — will." His thickening voice failed, his
dim eyes looked with piteous, speechless agony up in hers.

"A will in the Indian cabinet — is that it, papa?"

He nodded eagerly — a flash of light crossing his death-Hke
face.

"And you want me to get it for you ? "

He nodded again. " Quick ! " he said huskily, and she arose
and left the room.

The Indian cabinet was in the Hbrary. There the lights still
burned brightly, and there on the hearth-rug her lover had
stood — the lover for whom she had been ready to give up the
world and all its glory — and who mercilessly cast her off. She
looked darkly that way once. " He will live," she said to her-
self under her breath. "And I will remember it." Then she
crossed to the tall cabinet, opened one drawer after another,
and searched among the papers there for the paper she wanted.

She found it without much trouble, closed and relocked the
cabinet, and returned to the sick room. Sir John still lay,
breathing laboriously, with a hungry, eager light in his gleam-
ing eyes.

" Shall I read it, papa — is that what you mean ?"

He nodded once more. She opened the paper — it was very
short — and read clearly and distinctly its contents. It be-
queathed to his beloved adopted daughter Katherine the sum

1 64 OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF!

of three thousand pounds — the portion of his late wife, and was
unsigned. She understood instantly what it was he wished.

" You want to sign this, do you not ? "

Another eager nod, another husky " quick ! "

She laid the document upon the blotting book before him
on the bed, and placed the pen in his hand. Dr. Graves hastily
summoned Capt^n De Vere, and the two men stood by as
witnesses while the stricken man essayed to sign.

Essayed — and in vain ! The pen dropped useless from his
fingers. Again Katherine lifted, and placed it in his, hand —
again he strove. The effort was futile — it fell from his fin-
gers, and with a low moan of agony his nerveless arm dropped
by his side.

" It is of no use — all vital power is gone. He never will
sign his name again," Dr. Graves said; "he is exciting himself
dangerously and uselessly."

The dying man heard, and understood. His eyes turned on
Katherine with a speechless anguish terrible to see.

" Too late ! too late ! " they heard him groan.

'•Oh, my God! too late!"

Katherine' s arms encircled him — she pressed her cold face
close to his.

"Papa, darling," she said, softly and sweetly, "I don't want
you to grieve for me — to think of me even. You are very,
very ill — very ill, papa, and — had we not better send for a
clergyman ? "

He made a feeble motion of assent. She looked at Cap-
tain De Vere.

" You will go ? " she said.

He went at once. Then she bent close to him again, whis-
pering gently and soothingly into his ear. But it is doubtful if
he heard her. A stupor — the stupor which precedes death —
was gathering over him ; his dull eyes closed, his pale lips mut-
tered, he moaned ceaselessly — the great, last change was very
near.

The sun was high in the blue January sky now, the whole
world jubilant with the glad sunlight of the New Year. And
in the town of Castleford people talked with bated breath of
the strange, dread tragedy at Scarswood, and of nothing else.
In a little cottage in the remotest suburbs of the town, Gaston
Dantree lay, senseless still, while life and death fought their
sharp battle above his pillow. And in that stately and

Z>AV OF WRATH! DAY OF GRIEF!

165

Spacious chamber at Scarswood its lord lay dying, while clergy-
man and physicians stood by, useless and in vain.

She never left him — she neither slept nor ate. As sh^ had
been from the first — tearless, noiseless — so she was to the last."
The perfumed laces — the dead white silk of her trailing robe
— still swept their richness over the carpet ; o^i arms and neck
large pearls still shone, on her head the orange wreath and
vail still remained. She had removed nothing but her gloves
— w^hat did it matter what she wore now ? She sat beside the
dying man, while the slow ghostly hours dragged on — an awful
sight it seemed to the men who mutely watched her. Her
wedding day ! and she sat here bereaved more cruelly, more
bitterly, than ever widow in the world before.

Morning came and passed. The short January afternoon
wore on. The sun dropped low, the blue twilight shadows
were gathering once more. That celebrated physician from
London had arrived, but all the physicians in the great Babylon
were of little avail now. Lower and lower the red wintry sun
dropped, flushing earth and sky with rose-light, and, as its last
red ray faded and died amid the trees of Scarswood Park, Sir
John Dangerfield passed from Scarswood and all earthly pos-
sessions forever. Without sign or struggle the shadow that
goes before crept up, and shut out the light of life in one quiet
instant from all the face.

Up and down, up and down in the crimson splendors of that
New Year sunset, Peter Dangerfield paced under the leafless
trees. And this was to have been her wedding day ! No pang
of pity — no touch of -remorse came to him — it was not in his
nature to feel either. He only waited in a fever of impatience
for the end.

It came. As he stood for an instant, his eyes fixed on that
red radiance in the west, thinking how fair and stately Scars-
wood looked beneath its light. Dr. Graves approached him.
One look at his face was enough ! His heart gave a great
leap. At last ! at last ! — his hour had come.

"Sir Peter Dangerfield," the physician gravely said, "your
uncle is dead."

The late Sir John had been his friend ; but a live dog is
better than a dead lion. Sir John was dead, and Sir Peter
reigned. It could do no harm to be the first to pay court to
the new sovereiorn.

" Sir Peter ! " He turned faint and giddy for a moment
great joy, and leaned speechlessly against a tree. Then

i66

''-DEAD OR alive:'

he started up, his face flushing dark red, and made hastily for
the house. Never before had the old baronial hall looked half
so noble, half so grand ; never before had the fair domain spread
around him seemed half so stately an inheritance as now when
he stood there in this first January sunset, master of ScarsAVOod.

CHAPTER XV.

"DEAD OR ALIVE."

HE funeral was over, and a very grand and stately
ceremonial it had been. There had been a profusion
of mutes, of black velvet, and of ostrich feathers, a
long procession of mourning coaches, a longer pro-
cession of the carriages of the county families — a whole army,
it seemed, of the Dangerfield tenantry and the trades-people
of Castleford. For the late Sir John, during his brief reign,
had made many friends, and over his death a halo of delicious
romance hung. Miss Dangerfield was not Miss Dangerfield —
his daughter was not his daughter, and over in that little
cottage on the outskirts of the town, a young man lay — dying
it might be — slain by the hand of the outraged baronet whom
they were burying to-day.

It was a very solemn pageant. The bells of the town and
of the hamlets about tolled all the day long ! Scarswood Park
had been alive from morning until night with people in carriages
coming to leave cards. The principal shops of Castleford
were shut, the principal church hung in black. And " ashes to
ashes — dust to dust," had been spoken, and they laid Sir John,
with the dozens of other dead Dangerfields, under the chancel,
where sturdy Sir Roland Dangerfield, knight, had knelt (in
stone) for a hundred years, opposite his wife Elizabeth, with a
stone cushion between them.

The funeral was over, and in the pale yellow glimmer of the
January sunset the mourning coaches and the family carriages
went their way, and the dead man's adopted daughter was
driven back home. Home ! what an uttef mockery that word
must have sounded in her ears as she lay back among the sable
cushions in her traifing crapes and bombazine, and knowing

^*DEAD OR ALIVE.

167

that of all the homeless, houseless wretches adrift on the world,
there was not one more homeless than she.

The pale yellow glow of the sunset was merging into the
gloomy gray of evening as they reached Scarswood. Her
faithful friend, Edith Talbot, who had been with her from the
first, was with her still. The blinds were drawn up, shutters
unbarred, Scarswood looked much the same as ever, only there
was a hatchment over the great dining-room window, and in
the house the servants, clad in deepest mourning, moved about
like ghosts, with bated breath and hushed voices, as though the
lord of the manor still lay in state in these silent upper rooms.
It all struck with a dreary chill on the heart of Miss Talbot,
the gloom, the silence, the mourning robes, the desolation.
She shuddered a little, and clung closer to Katherine's arm as
they went up the wide, black slippery oaken staircase, down
which Gaston Dantree had been hurled. But there was that
in her friend's face that made her very heart stand still with
awe and expectation.

She was white as death. At all times she had been pale, but
not like this — never before like this ! As she had been from
the first hour the blow fell, so she was still, silent, tearless, rigid.
All those days and nights when Sir John Dangerfield had lain
stark and dead before her, she had sat immovable in the big
carved oak chair at his head, her clasped hands lying still, her
face whiter than snow, white almost as the dead, her eyes
fixed straight before her in a fixed, unseeing stare. Of what was
she thinking as she sat there — of all that v/as past, of all that
was to come? No one knew. People who had thought they
had known her best looked at her in wonder and distrust, and
began to realize they had never known her at all. Friends
came, and friends went — she never heeded ; they spoke to her
soothingly, compassionately, and she answered in briefest mon-
osyllables, and closed her lips more resolutely than before.
The only one of them all she ever addressed directly was Mr.
Otis, and then only in one short phrase, " How is he ? " The
answer as invariably was " Much the same — no worse, no
better." Mr. Otis, with his keen thin face and steel-blue eyes,
watched this singular sort of girl with even more interest than
the rest of the curious. He was a young man who thought
more than he spoke, and who studied human nature. Women
at best are incomprehensible creatures, scarcely to be treated
as rational beings in the trying hours of life, but beyond all of
her sex this girl was a sphinx. She had lost lover, father,

i68

''DEAD OR alive:'

fortune, home, and name all in one hour, and she had never
shed one tear, never uttered one complaint. Other women's
hearts would have broken for half, and she, a child of seventeen,
bore all like a Spartan. Was it that she did not feel at all or
— that she felt so much ? Would this frozen calm outlast her
life, or would the ice break all at once, suddenly and terribh^
and let the black and bitter waters below rush forth ?

" If it ever does, then woe to those who hav.e ruined her,"
Mr. Otis thought. " This girl is no common girl, and not to
be judged by common rules. I thought so from the hrst time
I saw her — happy and hopeful, I think so more than ever now
— in her desolation and despair. She loved the man she has lost
with a passion and abandon which (thank Heaven !) few girls of
seventeen ever feel. She loved the father who is dead, the name
and rank she bore, the noble inheritance that was to be hers.
And all has gone from her, and she sits here like this ! Let
Mrs. Vavasor take care, let Peter Dangerfield be warned, and
most of all, let Gaston Dantree die, for on my life I believe
a day of terrible reckoning will come."

But Gaston Dantree was not going to die ; that matter was
settled beyond possibility of doubt before the day of the fu-
neral. He would live. He told her so now, as she asked the
question ; and as Henry Otis spoke the words, his eyes were
fixed upon her with a keen, powerful look. She did not even seem
to see him — her eyes looked out of the window at the gray
shadows veiling the wintry landscape, a slight, indescribable
smile dawned for a second over her white face.

He will live," she repeated, softly ; I am glad of that."
She looked up and met the young surgeon's level, searching
gaze. . " I am glad of that," she said again, slowly, "if such a
lost wretch as I am has a right to be glad at all. You have
been very kind, Mr. Otis." She gave him her hand with some
of her old frank grace. " Thank you very much. I will repay
you some day if I can."

He took the slim fingers in his, more moved than she knew.
How could those wan little fingers work ? how deathly white
the young face ! An infinite compassion moved him, and in
that instant there dawned within him a love and pity that never
left him. He longed with manhood's strong compassion to
take this poor little womanly martyr in his sheltering arms, and
hold her there safe from sorrow, and suffering, and sin, it might
be, in the dark days to come.

The only hours in which life and their old fire had come to the

''DEAD OR ALIVE r

large, weary eyes of the girl, had been the hours when Peter
Dangerfield had come into the death-chamber. Then a curious
expression would set her Hps hard, and kindle a furtive, cease-
less gleam in her eyes. Sir Peter ! He was that now beyond
the shadow of a doubt — the legal forms which would prove his
right presently were only forms.

Sir Peter wore the weeds of woe well. He was pale and
"restless, his deep black made him look quite ghastly ; his small,
pale, near-sighted eyes bhnked away uneasily from that statu-
esque figure sitting in the great arm-chair. Mr. Otis noticed
this, too — what did not those sharp eyes of his see ?

" Pm a poor man," he said one evening, under his breath,
as he watched the dark glance with which Katherine followed
the new baronet out of the room — "Pm a poor man, and I
would like to be a rich one, but for all your prospective baron-
etcy, all your eight thousand a year, Sir Peter Dangerfield, I
wouldn't stand in your shoes to-night."

And now it was all over, and Katherine, trailing her black
robes behind her, was back at Scarswood. " For the last time,
Edith," she said softly to her companion, " for the last time."

" Katherine," her friend faltered, "what do you mean ? Oh,
Kathie, don't look so — don't smile like that for pity's sake.
You make me afraid of you."

For a smile, strange and ominous, had dawned over Kathe-
rine's face, as she met her friend's piteous glance.

" Afraid of me," she repeated. " Well — I am a hideous
object, I dare say, by this time, and I don't dare to look in the
glass for fear I should grow afraid of myself. Afraid of myself !
That is just it — I am afraid of myself — horribly afraid — afraid
— afraid. Edith," she caught her friend's arm with sudden
strength, "you like me a little now — yes, yes. I know you
do ; and in the years that are to come I know you will hate
me — hate and abhor me ! Edith, I loved my father — dearly,
dearly — but I tell you I am glad he is dead and buried
to-night."

" Oh, Katherine ! Katherine ! "
I am only seventeen," Katherine Dangerfield went steadily
on, " and I am strong, and healthy, and likely to live for fifty
years to come. What sort of a woman do you think I will be
half or a quarter of a century from now ? Think of me as I
am to-night, Edith Talbot, when the time comes for you to
shrink at the sound of my name — an orphan, who had no father
to lose, a widow in her wedding hour, a houseless, friendless
8

I/O

**DEAD OR ALIVE.''

wretch, trained to think herself a baronet's daughter and
heiress."

The passion within her was rising now, strong, but surely
rising. Her hands were clenched, her eyes bright in the creep-
ing dusk, her voice deep, suppressed, and intense. Edith Tal-
bot clasped her two hands caressingly round her arm, and
looked beseechingly up in her face.

" Not houseless — not friendless, Katherine, darling — never
that while my brother and I live. Oh, come with us — let
Morecambe be your home — let me be your sister. I love you,
dear — indeed I do, and never half so fondly as now. Come
with us, and give up those dark and dreadful thoughts that I
know are in your mind. Come, Kathie — darling — come ! "

She drew her friend's face down and kissed it again and
again. And Katherine held her tight for one moment, and
then left her go.

''It is like you, Edith," she only said, "like you and your
brother. But then it was always a weakness of your house to
take the losing side. I do not say much, but believe me I'm
very grateful. And now, my little pale pet, I will send you
home — you are worn out in your loyal fidelity to your fallen
friend. I will send you home, and to-morrow, or next day, you
will come back to Scarswood."

She kissed her, and put her from her. Edith Talbot looked
at her distrustfully in the fading light.

" To-morrow or next day ! But when I come back to
Scarswood shall I find Katherine here ? "

Katherine was standing where the light fell strongest. She
turned abruptly away at these words.

"Where else should you find me? You don't think Peter
Dan — nay I beg his pardon — Sir Peter will turn me on the
street for a day or two at least. Here is your brother, Edith
— I don't v/ant to meet him, and I would rather be alone.
You must go."

The words sounded ungracious, but Edith understood her —
understood the swift impetuous kiss, and the flight from the
room. She wanted to be alone— always the impulse of all
wild animals in the first throbs of pain. And though Katherine
showed it in no way^ nor even much looked it, Edith knew
ho\\^ the Avound was bleeding inwardly, and that it was just such
strong natures as this that suffer most, and suffer mutely.

"Going to stay all night at Scarswood alone — deuced strange
girl that," the squire grumbled. " Neyer shed a tear since it

^DEAD OR alive:'

171

all happened, they say — a woman that dcresn't cry is a woniaYi
of the wrong sort. She's got Otis to fetch round that coxcomb
Dantree, but now that she's got him fetched round, what is she
going to do with him ? She's got to walk out in a day or two
and leave that little cad of an attorney lord of the manor. She
never says a word or lifts a finger to help herself. And I used
to think that girl had pluck."

''What would you have her do? What can she do ?" his
sister demanded, impatiently. " What can any woman do
when she's wronged, hwt break her heart and bear it?"

" Some women are devils — ^just that," the young squire
responded, gravely; "and I believe in my soul Katherine
Dangerfield has more of the devil in her than even the general-
ity of women. If Messieurs Dantree and Dangerfield have
heard the last of their handiwork, then I'm a Dutchman. If
Katherine Dangerfield can't have justice, take my word for it,
Miss Talbot, she'll have revenge."

His sister said nothing — she shivered beneath her sables
and looked back wistfully towards Scarswood. She loved her
friend truly and greatly as girls rarely love ; and, as Katherine had
said, it was ever the way of her chivalrous race to take the los-
ing side — a way that in troubled times gone by had cost more
than one Talbot his head. A vision rose before her of Kath-
erine alone in those empty, dark rooms, where death had been
so lately, brooding with that pale, somber face, over her wrongs.

" With her nature, it is enough to drive her to madness or
suicide," Miss Talbot thought. " I will go back to-morrow
and fetch her with me, say what she will. To be left to her-
self is the very worst thing that can possibly happen to her
now."

Katherine was not alone, however. There had followed
their carriage to Scarswood another, and that other contained
the heir and the late baronet's lawyer. Mr. Mansfield, the
Castleford solicitor, was talking very earnestly concerning that
unsigned and invalid will.

"You will pardon the liberty I take, Sir Peter, in urging you
to do this poor young lady justice. Probably you need no
urging — you have been her friend — who so recently thought
yourself her cousin; Your late excellent uncle was my friend
since my earliest youth — I know and yoii know how he loved
his daughter — Katherine, I mean. I trust and beheve, Sir
Peter, you will do her justice."
. The smile on the face of the new baronet might have damped

172 **BEAD OR alive:'

fhe old solicitor's hope could he have seen it, but the fast-
closing night hid it as he lay back in the cushions.
''How, pray, Mr. Mansfield?"

The sneer was just perceptible. It was there, however, and
the lawyer remarked it.

" By giving her at once the three thousand pounds which he
wished to leave her in that unsigned will, if will it can really be
called, drawn up informally by himself, and speaking of her
only. I suppose the knowledge of this woman Vavasor's power,
and his dread of her, prevented him from making his will prop-
erly, months ago. But to those three thousand pounds, the
remains of his late wife's portion, you, at least, Su Peter, have
no shadow of moral right. Legally, of course, everything is
yours, but law, as you know, is not always justice."

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Mansfield," the other interrupted
coolly; " law and justice in this case go hand-in-hand. My
late lamented uncle tried his best to defraud me of my rights —
you can't deny that."

" He is dead, Sir Peter, and you know the old Latin prov-
erb : ' Speak no ill of the dead.' "

" If truth be ill, it must be spoken, though the dead had
been a king instead of a baronet ; and I claim that I have a
legal and moral right to everything — everything — you under-
stand, Mf. Mansfield — this three thousand pounds and all. I
think, on the whole. Miss Katherine Dangerfield has every
reason to be thankful for the life of ease and luxury she has
led— she, who, for aught we know, might have been a beggar
born. There is no need to get angry, Mr. Maiisfield — 1 am
speaking truth."

"Then I am to understand. Sir Peter," the lawyer said, rais-
ing his voice, " that you refuse to do her even this scant justice —
that you mean to send her forth penniless into the world to
make her own way as she best can ? I am to understand this ? "

" My good fellow — no," the young baronet said, in the slow-
est, laziest, and most insolent of tones ; " nothing of the sort —
I shan't turn my late fair relative into the world. She shall
live and enliven Scarswood and me by her charming presence
as long as she pleases. But you will kindly allow me to make
my own terms with her, and be generous after my own fashion.
May I ask if it is to visit and condole with Miss Dangerfield
that you are on your way to Scarswood now ? I suppose we
must call her Miss Dangerfield for convenience sake — her own
name, if she ever had a legal right to a name, being enveloped

''DEAD OR ALIVE r

ill a delightful cloud of mystery and romance. I wonder how
she finds it to be a heroine ? "

"Sir Peter Dangerfield," the old lawyer began hotly j but the
baronet waved his hand authoritatively.

"That will do, Mr. Mansfield. I have been in your office, I
admit, and I have been an impoverished attorney while you were
a well-to-do solicitor ; perhaps you had a right to dictate to me
then. Our relations have changed — I deny your right now.
Be kind enough to keep your temper, and for the future, your
advice."

And then Sir Peter folded his small arms across his small
chest, and looked with the malicious delight of a small nature
through his eye-glass at the discomfited solicitor.

" I owe him a good many home-thrusts," the baronet
thought, with a chuckle. " I think I have paid off one
installment at least ; I shall pay off all I owe before long."

They reached Scarswood — dark and gloomy the old house
loomed up in the chill, gray, wintry twilight. A crescent moon
swung over the trees, and the stars, bright and frosty, were out.
No lights gleamed anywhere along the front of the building ;
except the soughing of the night-wind, no sound reached their
ears.

" If one believed in ghosts, Scarswood looks a fit place for
a ghostly carnival to-night," Mr. Mansfield thought ; " it is like
a haunted house. I wonder can poor old Sir John's shade rest
easy in the tomb, with his one ewe lamb at the mercy of this
contemptible Uttle wolf"

" I am going to the library, Mansfield," the new baronet
said, with cool familiarity. " If you or — Miss Dangerfield want
me, you can send for me there. Only this premise : I will come
to no terms with her in your presence. What I have to say to
her, I shall say to her alone."

He opened the library door, entered, and closed it with an
emphatic bang. The elder man looked anxiously after him on
the landing.

" What does the little reptile mean ? I don't half like the tone
in which he speaks of Katherine. He doesn't mean to — no,
he daren't — no man dare insult her in the hour of her downfall."

He sent a servant to announce his presence, the French girl
Ninon ; she came to him in a moment, and ushered him into
the room where Katherine sat alone.

It was her old familiar sitting-room or boudoir, all fitted up
with crimson and gilding, for she had ever loved bright colors.

174

''DEAD OR alive:'

The firelight leaping in the grate alone lit it now. and before the
fire, lying back in a great carved and gilded chair, Katherine
sat. The bright cushions against which her head lay threw out
with startling relief the ghasdy pallor of her face, the dead
black of her dress. How changed she was — how changed —
how changed out of all knowledge. And there were people who
had called her cold, and heartless, and unfeeling because she
had sat with dry eyes and still face beside her dead. " Un-
feeling ! " and worn and altered like this.

She looked round and held out her hand, with the faint shadow
of her former bright smile, to her friend.

" My dear," he said, very gently, ^' I do not intrude upon you
too soon, do I ? But I could not wait ; I came Vv-ith Sir Peter
straight frOm the funeral here. As things stand now, the sooner
your alTairs are settled the better."

She lifted her head a little and looked at him.

" Peter Dangerfield here — so soon ! He is in haste to take
possession. Does he intend to remain all night ? — and am I to
leave at once ? "

''You are not to leave until you see fit, for a thousand Peter
Dangerfields ! I don't know whether he intends remaining
over night or not ; certainly not, though, I should say, if you
object."

" I ! What right have I to object. The house is his, and
everything in it. He is perfectly justified in taking possession
at once, and in turning me out if he sees fit."

" He will never do that, my child ; and I think — I hope — I
am sure he will act as common justice requires, and give you
at once the three thousand pounds your father bequeathed to
you in that unsigned will."

She half rose from her chair ; a light flashed into her face ; a
rush of passionate words leaped to her lips. Mr. Mansfield
drew back. It was the old fiery temper breaking through the
frozen calm of those latter days' despair. But all at once she
checked herself — she who never before had checked a single
emotion. She sank slowly back into her seat, and a strange,
set expression hardened her mouth.

" You think so, Mr. Mansfield — you think he will be
generous enough for that ? And it is in his power not to give it
to me if he likes — those three thousand pounds ? "

" Certainly, it is in his power ; but no one save the veriest
monster would think of acting a part so thoroughly mean and
base. He has come into a great fortune suddenly and

**DEAD OR ALIVE.''

unexpectedly, and fow have lost one. Purely no wretch lives
on earth so utterly despicable as to wish to retain also the
portion of the late Lady Dangerfield. Sir John's last effort was
to sign that will ; it ought to be the most sacred thing on earth
to Sir John's successor."

She listened very quietly, the shadow of a scornful smile on
her face.

" Mr. Mansfield, I am afraid there is something wanting in
your knowledge of human nature, in your opinion of Sir Peter
Dangerfield. You forget how long this new-made baronet
has been defrauded of his rights as heir presumptive. You
forget that some months ago I refused to marry him — that I
even insulted him — my abominable temper, Mr. Mansfield.
You forget he owes me a long debt, and that it is in his power
to repay me now. And I think Sir Peter is a gentleman who
will conscientiously i^ay every debt of that sort to the uttermost
farthing."

" My dear Miss Dangerfield — ^"
And that is still another injuiy," the girl said. " I have
presumed to wear an honorable and ancient name — I, a name-
less waif and stray, born in an almshouse or a hovel, very likely.
And you think he will really give me this three thousand
pounds ? Did he tell you so, Mr. Mansfield ? "

" No, he told me nothing." The old lawyer shifted away un-
easily, as he spoke, from the strange expression in the large,
steadfast eyes. " He said he would see you alone, and make
his own terms with you. I infer from that he intends to do
something. He is in the library — shall I go and send him here,
or would you rather it were to-morrow ? "

She was silent for a moment — looking into the fire — her
mouth set in that hard, straight line. He watched her uneasily
— he could not understand her any more than the others. Was
she going to take it quietly and humbly like this ? — she, who
two vv^eeks ago had been the proudest girl in Sussex. Was she
going to accept Peter Dangerfield' s dole of charity, and thank
him for his generosity ? or did those compressed lips, the dry,
bright glitter of those eyes, speak of coming tempest and
revolt ? He was out of his depth altogether.

" Well, my dear," he said, fidgeting, " shaH I send him,
or—"

She looked up, aroused from her trance.
''Send him in, by all means," she said. ''Let us see how
generous Peter Dangerfield can be."

176

**Z)EAD OR alive:*

He got lip, walked irresolutely to the door, hesitated a
moment — then came suddenly back.

" And, Kathie," he said impetuously, " if you should fling his
miserable dole back in his face, don't fear that you shall ever
want a home. I have no daughters of my own ; come with me
to Castleford, and brighten the life of two old humdrum people.
Come and be my daughter for the rest of your days."

He gave her no time to answer — he hurried away and rapped
smartly at the library door. Peter Dangerfield's small, color-
less face looked out.

" What is it ? " he asked. " Am I to go upstairs ? "

*' You are," responded Mr. Mansfield, curtly; and as you
deal with that poor child in her trouble, may the good, just
God deal by you. I shall remain here and take her home with
me to-night if she will come."

Peter Dangerfield smiled — an evil and most sinister smile.

** I think it extremely likely she will go," he said. " The
two-story brick dwelling of Mr. Mansfield, the solicitor, will be
rather an awkward change after the gayety and grandeur of
Scarswood, but then — beggars mustn't be choosers."

He walked straight upstairs, still with a smile on his face —
still with that exulting glow at his heart.

*'You have had your day, my lady," he said, "and you
walked over our heads with a ring and a clatter. You queened
it right royally over us, and now the wheel has turned, and my
turn has come. There is not a slight, not a sneer, not an in-
sult of yours, my haughty, uplifted Miss Dangerfield, that I do
not remember — that I will not repay to-night."

He opened the door without ceremony, and walked in.
The room was brightly lighted now ; she had lit the clusters of
wax tapers in the chandeliers, and stirred the fire into a bright-
er blaze. With its crimson and gold hangings and upholstery,
its rich velvety carpets, its little gems of paintings, its carved
and inlaid piano, its mirrors, its light, its warmth, and perfume,
it looked, as he opened the door, a rich and glowing ])icture of
color and beauty. And in the trailing black dress, and with
her white, cold face, Katherine, the fallen queen of all this
grandeur, stood and looked at him as he came in.

She had left her seat, and was leaning lightly against the
mantel, her hands, hanging loosely, clasped before her. On
those wasted hands rich rings flashed in the firelight, and on
the left still gleamed Gaston Dautree's betrothal circlet, a

*'DEAD OR ALIVE,

177

heavy band of plain gold. It was the first thing Peter Danger-
field saw. He laughed sHghtly, and pointed to it.

"You wear it still, then, my fair Cousin Katherine. And
he will recover, Otis says. Well — who knows — you were
madly in love with him when you were a baronet's daughter.
He may prove faithful, and think better of jilting you when he
recovers, and we may have a wedding after all. Let us hope
so. He has used you badly — infernally, I may say, but then
your angelic sex is ready to forgive the man they love seventy
times seven."

He took his place opposite her, and they looked each other
straight in the eyes. It was the grave defiance of two duelists
to the death.

" Was that what you came here to say, Sir Peter Danger-
field?"

" No, Katherine — I wonder if your name really is Katherine,
by the way ; I must ask Mrs. Vavasor ; I came here at old
Mansfield's request to talk business and money matters. How
nice it is for you, my dear, to have so many friends in the
hour of your downfall — the Talbots, the Mansfields, and that
heavy dragoon, De Vere, who will do anything under Heaven
for you — well, except, perhaps, marry you. And you look like
a * queen uncrowned ' to-night, my tall, stately Miss Danger-
field — not good-looking, you know, my dear — you never were
that — but majestic and dignified, and uplifted, and all that sort
of thing. Ah ! how are the mighty fallen, indeed ! Only a
fortnight ago you stood here ruling it like a very princess, on
my soul, monarch of all you surveyed ; and now — there isn't a
beggar in the streets of Castleford poorer than you."

She stood dead silent, looking at him. How his eyes
gleamed — how glibly his venomous tongue ran. His little
form actually seemed to dilate and grow tall in this hour of his
triumph.

"And that other night," he went on ; " do you remember it,
Kathie ? Oh, let me call you by the old familiar name to the
^ last ! That other night when I — a poor, pettifogging attorney,
as I think I have heard Mr. Dantree call me — I had the pre-
sumption in the conservatory to ask you to be my wife. It
was presumptuous, and I richly deserved the rebuff I got for my
pains; I deserved even to be called a 'rickety dwarf!' No
one knows it better than I. You the heiress of Scarswood, and
I not worth a rap. If I had been good-looking, even like that
angeHc- Dantree, with a face and voice of a seraph ; but ugly
8*

178

**DEAD OR ALIVE?'

and a dwarf, and only an attorney withal, you served me pre-
cisely right, Katharine. You adored beauty, and Dantree was at
your feet ; you worshiped him, and he worshiped your — fort-
tme ; a very common story. What a pity the Fates did not
make us both handsome instead of clever. What chance has
brains against beauty — particularly in a woman ? You served
me right, Katherine, and now, in return, 1 am to come before
you to-night, and offer you three thousand pounds— mine to
give or keep as I please."

He paused, his whole face glowing with sardonic light. Hers
never changed.

Go on," she said, in a perfectly steady voice.

He came a step nearer. What did that strange demoniacal
light in his eyes mean now ? She saw it but she never flinched.

''Katherine," he said, "I can do better for you than that.
What is a pitiful three thousand pounds to the late heiress of
eight thousand per annum ? I can do better for you, and I
will. Why should you leave Scarswood at all — why not remain
here as mistress still ! — with meV^

" Go on," she said again in the same steady tone.

" Need I speak more plainly ? " He drew still another step
nearer, and all the devil of hatred and malignity within him
shone forth in the gleam of his eyes. "Then I will — it would
be a pity for us to misunderstand one another in the least.
Last September I asked you, the heiress of Scarswood, to be
my wife. You refused — more, you grossly insulted me. To-
night I return good for evil — let us forgive and forget. As
lord and master of Scarswood, I offer you again a home here —
this time not as wife, but as my mistress

The atrocious word was spoken. His hate and revenge had
given hiui a diabolical courage to say what he never would
have dared to say in cold blood. But at the last word he drew
back. He was a coward to the core, and she had shown her-
self before now to have the fury of a very panther. And they
were alone — she might murder him before he could reach the
door. His first impulse was flight ; and she saw it.

" Stop ! " she cried, and he stood as still as though he had
been shot. " You coward ! You cur ! " No words can tell
the concentrated scorn of her low, level voice. " You have
said it, and now hear me. This is your hour — mine will come.
And here, before Heaven, by my dead father's memor}^, I swear
to be revenged. Living, I shall pursue you to the very ends
of the earth — dead, I will come back from the grave, if the

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

179

dead can ! For every word you have spoken to-night, you
shall pay dearly — dearly ! I have only one thing left to live
for now, and that is my vengeance on you. The fortune you
have taken I will wrest from you yet — the shame, the misery,
the disgrace that is mine, you shall feel in your turn. I swear
it I Look to yourself, Peter Dangerfield ! Living, I will hunt
you down — dead, I will return and tomient you I Now go."

She pointed to the door. It was the most theatrical thing
imaginable. His courage rose again. She did not mean to
spring upon him and strangle him then, after all. He laughed,
a low, jeering laugh, with his hand on the door.

" Katherine," he said, " do go on the stage. You'll be an
ornament to the profession, and will turn an honest penny.
That speech, that attitude, that gesture, that tone were worthy
the immortal Rachel herself. With the stage lamps, and an
appropriate costume, a speech half so melo-dramatic would
bring down the house. And if you die, you'll haunt me !
Don't die, Kathie — you're too clever a woman to be lost to
the world. And ghosts, my dear, went out of fashion with the
Castle of Otranto and the Mysteries of Udolpho. Think over
my proposal, my dear, and good-night."

He looked back at her once as he stood there, the leaping
firelight full on her white face and black robe, and as he saw
her then, he saw her sleeping or waking all the rest of his life.
Then the door closed, and Katherine was once more alone.

CHAPTER XVI.

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

HE hours of the evening wore on. Sir Peter Danger-
field had shut himself up in the lower rooms, on the
watch, however, for any sound upstairs. He had had
his revenge — he had offered one of the proudest girls
in England the most deadly insult a man can offer a woman.
It w^s the hour of his triumph, but in the midst of it all he felt
strangely nervous and uneasy.

" Dead or alive I will have my revenge." The ominous
words haunted him. In the mouths of other girls they would.

i8o

BEFORE MIDNIGHT,

have been melo dramatic and meaningless, but Katherine Dan-
gerfield was not like other girls. She meant them, and would
move heaven and earth to compass her ends.

In her pretty, wax-lit, crimson-hung room, Katherine stood,
long and motionless, where he had left her. Her loosely clasped
hands still hung before her, her darkly brooding eyes never left
the fire. Her face kept its white, changeless calm — her hps
were set in that hard, resolute, bitter line.

The sonorous clock over the stables striking eight awoke her
at last from her trance. She started up, crossed the room, like
one roused to a determined purpose, and rang the bell. Ninon
came.

" I'm going out, Ninon — I am going to Castleford. It may
be close upon midnight before I return, and the house will
probably be shut up. Wait for me at the door in the southern
turret, and when I knock let me in."

"But, mademoiselle," the girl cried ; "to Castleford so late,
and on foot, and alone ! "

"I don't mind the lateness — no one will molest j^z^. For
the walk, I can do it in an hour and a quarter. Do as I bid
you, Ninon, and say nothing to any one of niy absence."

The French girl knew her mistress too well to disobey, but
she lingered for a moment at the door, looking back wistfully.
She loved this impetuous young mistress, who scolded her
vehemently one instant and made it up the next by a present
of her best silk dress. She loved her, as all the servants in the
house did, and never so well as now.

" If — if — oh ! Mademoiselle Katherine, don't be angry, but
if you would only let me go with you ! The way is so long,
and so lonely, and coming home it will be so late. Mademoi-
selle, I beseech you ! let me go too ! "

" You foolish child — as if I cared for the lateness or the lone-
liness. It is only happy people who have anything to fear. All
that is past for me. Go, Ninon, and do precisely as I tell you,
if you are still so silly as to have any love left for such as I."

The gill obeyed reluctantly, hovering aloof on the landing.
In five minutes the door opened and Miss Dangerfield, wrapped
in a velvet mantle, and wearing her little black velvet hat,
appeared.

" You here still, Ninon 1 Do you know if Mr. — Sir Peter
Dangerfield" — she set her lips hard as she spoke the name —
" is anywhere in the passages below ? "
He is in the library, mademoiselle."

BEFORE MIDNIGHT,

i8i

" So much the better — we shall not meet, then. Lock my
door, Ninon, and keep the key until my return."

She glided down the stairs as she spoke, dark, and noiseless
as a spirit. She met no one. Sir Peter was busy over papers,
the servants were in their own quarters, the house was more
silent than a tomb. Softly she opened and closed the ponder-
ous portico door, and flitted out into the night.

It was clear, and cold, and starlight — the moon had not yet
arisen. In that light no one she met would be likely to recog-
nize her. The January wind blew keen and cold, and she
drew her fur-lined velvet closer about her, and sped on with
swift, light, elastic steps.

The walk was unspeakably lonely. Until the lights of the
town gleamed forth through the starry darkness she did not
meet a soul. She had walked so rapidly that she was out of
breath and in a glow of warmth. She slackened her pace now,
making for a deserted back street, and pausing finally before the
quiet, roomy, old-fashioned hosterly known as the Silver Rose.

" Does a lady named Mrs. Vavasor lodge here?"

The landlord of the Silver Rose started to his feet as the soft
accents fell upon his ear. The next moment he was bowing
low before the slender, black-robed figure and the two grave,
gray eyes.

The heroine of the day, the talk of the town, the reputed
daughter of the late Sir John Dangerfield, stood before him.

" Yes, Miss Katherine. Please come in hout of the cold.
Mrs. Vavasor does lodge here, but at present she happears to
be hout."

" Will she soon return?"

"Vv^ell, Miss Katherine, I really couldn't say, but I think it
Hkely. She don't hoften be hout heven as late as this. If you
would please to come in and wait," looking at her doubtfully
and pausing.

" If you will show me up to her room I will wait," the young
lady answered. " I must see her to-night. If you knew where
she was you might send."

The landlord shook his head.

"I don't know. Miss Dangerfield. She goes hout very sel-
dom and never stays long. This way, if you please."

He held a candle aloft, and led the way upstairs, and flung
open a door on the landing above.

"This be Mrs. Vavasor's sittin'-room. Take a seat by the
fire, Miss Katherine, and I dessay she'll be halong soon."

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

He went out and closed the door. Katherine stood in the
center of the room and looked about her with' a certain amount
of curiosity in her face. The room was furnished after the
stereotype fashion of such rooms. A few French novels scat-
tered about were the only things to betoken the individuality
of the occupant. The door of the chamber opening from this
apartment stood ajar, and looking in v/ith the same searching
gaze something familiar caught the girl's eye at once.

The bed was an old-fashioned four-poster, hung unwhole-
somely with curtains. Beside this bed was a little table, scat-
tered over with dog-eared novels, Parisienne fashion books,
bonbonnieres, hand-mirrors, and other wonmnly litter. In the "
center stood an Indian box of rare beauty and workmanship.
Katherine recognized it in a moment. It was one of hers, a
farewell gift from a military friend when leaving India. She re-
membered how more than once Mrs. Vavasor had admired it
among the other Indian treasures in her room, how all at once
it had vanished mysteriously, and novv, here it was — Katherine's
short upper lip curled scornfully.

" So," she said, *'you are a thief, as well as an intriguante,
an adventuress. You have stolen my box. Let us see to what
use you have put poor little Ensign Brandon's gift."

She walked deliberately into the sleeping-room and took up
the casket. It closed and locked with a secret spring — she
touched it and the lid flew back. It contained a slim packet
of letters tied with ribbon, and an old-fashioned miniature
painted on ivory, in a case of velvet ornamented with seed
pearls.

In every nature there are depths of evil that come to light
nnder the influence of adversity. Who is not virtuous, untempt-
ed — who is not honorable, untried ? The dark side of Kath-
erine's nature that might have lain dormant and unsuspected
even by herself forever in the sunshine of prosperity, was assert-
ing itself now. She deliberately read the address on the
letters. The paper was yellow with time, the ink faded, but the
bold, firm, masculine hand was perfectly legible still. '-'•Miss
Harriet Lelachew% 35 Roseinary Place ^ Kensington " — that
was the address.

She turned from the letters, pressed the spring of the picture
case, and looked at the portrait within. Like the letters, time
had faded it, but the bold, masculine, boyish face smiled up at
her with a brightness that even a score of years could not mar.
It was the eager, handsome, beardless face of a youth in the

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

183

first flash of manhood, with Hps that smiled, and eyes that were
aUve.

" A brave, gentlemanly face," Katherine thought. " What
could a man like this ever have had to do with herl Is this
the lover she spoke of, from whom my mother parted her ? Are
these letters from him ? Was her name Harriet Lelacheur,
instead of Harman ? You may keep my Indian box, Mrs.
Vavasor, and welcome, and / will keep its contents."

With the same steady deliberation she put the letters and
picture in her pocket, and \^alked back into the other room.
There was a hard light in her eyes, an expression on her face
not pleasant to see.

" On the road I am walking there is no turning back. To
accomplish the aim of my life I must do to others as I have
been done by. Mrs. Vavasor and Peter Dangerfield shall find
me an apt pupil. Ah — at last ! here she is ! "

She turned and faced the door. As she did so, it was thrown
impetuously open, and the woman she hated stood before her.

It was Mrs. Vavasor's last night in Castleford — her last night;
she had made up her mind forever,

It was all over. The romance, and revenge, and the triumph
of her life were finished and done. She had wrought out her
vendetta to the bitter end. Her price had been paid twice
over. With twenty thousand pounds as her fortune, she would
return to Paris, launch out into a life of splendor, and end by
marrying a title.

" I am still young — still handsome — by gaslight," she mused,
standing before the mirror, and surveying herself critically. " I
am one of those fortunate women who wear well and light up
well. The French are right in saying you can't tell a woman
from a gnat by lamplight. With my twenty thousand pounds,
my knowledge of this wicked world, my host of friends, Vv'hat a
hfe hes before me in my own delightful city of sunshine. Yes,
to-morrow I will go ; there is nothing tolinger in this stupid,
plodding country town for longer — unless — unless — it be to see
her in her downfall."

She paced softly up and down the little sitting-room. The
hour was early twilight, an hour Mrs. Vavasor hated. Hers
were no tender twilight memories to come with the misty stars.
Gaunt specters of crime, and shame, and poverty haunted hor-
ribly the dark record that lay behind this woman. So the cur-

BEFORE MIDNIGHT,

tains were drawn, and the lamp lit, and the firelight flickered on
the masses of braided black hair and the trailing robe of wine
silk.

" I should like to see her in the hour of her downfall," she
repeated. I should like to see her mother's daughter in the
poverty and pain I have felt. And I shall one day, but not
here. Somehow — I am neither superstitious nor a coward, but
I feel half afraid to meet that girl. I can see her now, as she
came gliding forward in that ghostly way in her bridal dress, that
face of white stone, and those ^ wild, wide eyes. Ah ! my
lady ! my lady ! In the hour of your triumph how little you
dreamed that my day would come too."

She walked softly up and down, a subtle and most evil smile
on her dark small face. The striking of the little clock on the
mantel aroused her ; it was eight, and she had an errand in
Castleford before all the shops closed for the night.

She put on her bonnet, wrapped herself in a large fluffy
shawl, and tripped away. She was barely in time to reach the
station whither she was bound before the shopman locked his
door. She bade him good-night in her sweetest tones, and
walked homeward, glancing up at the great winter stars burning
in the purple, bright sky.

" And Sir John is dead, and Sir Peter reigns ! Sic tra7isit
gloria 7nundi ! Poor little pitiful wretch ! it was like wringing
his very heart's blood to part with his beloved guineas to me
yesterday. I wonder how he and my haughty Katherine, my
queen uncrowned, get on together up at the great house, and I
wonder how my handsome Gaston does this cold January night.
Ugh ! " She shivered under her furred wraps. She was a chilly
little woman. " This beastly British climate ! And to think !
to think that but for me she would be far away in fair foreign
lands by this time, enjoying her honeymoon, the bride of a man
she adored ! Yes — I may go ; no revenge was ever more com-
plete than mine."

She was singing softly to herself as she ascended the stairs.
Everything had gone so well ! She had had her vengeance and
made her fortune at one clever throw, and after to-night a long
vista of Parisian pleasures and Parisian life floated before her
in a rosy mist. With the opera tune on her lips she opened
her door and stood face to face with — Katherine Dangerfield.

She stood stock still. The song died on her lips, the sudden
swift pallor that overspread her face showed through all the
pearl powder she wore. She had said she was no coward, and

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

I85

she was not, but in this hour she stood afraid to the very core,
to face this girl she had wronged.

Katherine had arisen and stood beside her, and Katherine
was the first to speak.

Come in, Mrs. Vavasor — the room is your own. And you
need not look such a picture of abject terror. I haven't come
here to murder you — to-night."

Her voice was perfectly clear, perfectly steady. An angry
sullenness came to the elder woman's relief She came in,
closed the door, and faced defiantly her foe.

" This is a most unexpected pleasure, Miss Katherine Dan-
gerfield. To what do 1 owe it ? "

"And as unwelcome as unexpected, Mrs. Vavasor, is it not?
To what do you owe it ? Well, there are women alive — or
girls, if you will, for I am only a girl — who would have given
you back death for less ruin than you have wrought me. Oh,
yes, Mrs. Vavasor, I mean what 1 say — death I But I am not
of that sort ; I am one of the pacific kind, and I content my-
self by coming here and only asking a fev/ questions. I per-
ceive there was no time to lose. I hear you leave Castleford
to-morrow."

" I do." The widow's thin lips were shut in a hard, unpleas-
ant line now, and her voice was sullen. "Permit me to add
that I am in somewhat of a hurry, and that the hour is late. I
must pack before I retire. I quit Castleford to-morrow by the
very first train."

"Ah! Naturally, Castleford can't be a pleasant place for
you to remain. You are not popular here at present, Mrs.
Vavasor. I will not detain you long. Of course it is at your
own option whether you answer my questions or not."

" Of course. What can I do for you. Miss Dangerfield ? "

She threw herself into a chair, stretched out her daintily
booted feet to the fire, and looked across with the same defiant
face at her enemy. And yet her heart misgave her. That col-
orless face, with its tense, set expression, its curious calm,
frightened her more than any words, any threats could have
done.

Katherine turned her grave eyes from the fire, clasped her
hands together on the Htde table between them, and leaned
slightly forward as she spoke.

" Miss Dangerfield is not my name. You are the only one
who knows. Will you tell me what it is ? "

" No— decidedly."

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

^' That is one of the questions you will not answer. Here is

another : Is my father alive ? "
" He js."

" My mother is dead — really dead?

"As dead as Queen Anne, Miss Dangerfield. I suppose we
may as well continue to call you so to the last, for convenience
sake. Your mother is dead — and, Katherine, you've been
brought up a Christian, and all that, and you ought to know.
Do you suppose the dead see what goes on in this reeling,
rocking little globe of ours ? Because if they do, I sincerely
hope your late lamented maternal parent is looking down upon
you and me at this moment."

You are a good hater, Mrs. Vavasor. Now I should like
to know what my mother ever did to you to inspire such deep,
and bitter, and lasting hate. You hated her alive, you hate her
dead, and you visit that hate, as bitter as ever, years and years
after, upon her child. I don't biame you, mind ; I don't say I
would not do the same myself, under certain circumstances ;
only I am very curious to know all about it."

Mrs. Vavasor looked at her doubtfully.

'■''You hate," she said, ''and you talk to me like this — to
of all people alive. You hate — you who sit there so quietly,
and speak like this after all the trouble and shame that would
drive most girls mad. I don't think you know what hate
means."

The shadow of a. smile came over Katherine's face. She
looked silently across at the speaker for an instant, that slow,
curious smile her only answer.

''We won't discuss that" she said. " Perhaps I came of a
weak and pusillanimous race, and there is so much of the span-
iel in my nature that I am ready to kiss the hand that hits
hardest. Never mind me. Time is passing, Mrs. Vavasor ;
do one generous thing to your enemy at the last — tell her some-
thing more of her own story. You have had full and complete
revenge— you can afford to be magnanimous now."

The perfect coolness of this unexpected address won its end.
Mrs. Vavasor, plucky herself, admired pluck in others, and all
women, good or bad, act on impulse.

" You are a cool hand," she said, with something of admira-
tion in her tone, " and I may tell you this — you are of no weak
or cowardly race ; the blood that flows in your veins has been
bitter, bad blood in its day. And you would like to know
something more of your mother? Your mother 1 " Her eyes

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

187

turned thoughtfully upon the fire, her mind wandered back to
the past. " I can see her now standing before me as plainly
as I used to see her twenty years ago, tall and stately. You
are like her, Katherine — the same graceful walk, the face at
once proud-looking and plain-looking — the dress of black and
orange, or purple or crimson — she had a passion for bright
colors, and the dark red flowers she used to wear in her hair.
You arc Hke her, and a little hke your father, too ; his way of
smiling and speaking at times. You are most like him now as
you sit there, so quiet, so deep, so resolute. Katherine, you vrill
make your way in the world, I think — women like you always do."

"Will you go on, Mrs. Vavasor? Once more, never mind
me."

. Mrs. Vavasor laughed — all her airy, easy self again.

And you really are anxious like this to know why I hated —
why I still hate your dead mother ? Well — I am in the humor
to gratify you to-night — I have locked the past so closely up
for such a length of time, that it is something of a relief and a
pleasure to unlock it to-night. But to think I should tell it to
you — to you ! These things come about so queerly — life is all
so queer — such a dizzy, whirling, merry-go-round, and we all
jumping-jacks, who just dance as our strings are pulled. And
they call us responsible beings, and they tell us we can shape
our own lives ! Why look you. I might have been a good
woman — a rich woman — a model British matron — sitting at
the head of a husband's table — bringing up children in the way
they should walk, going three times every Sunday to church,
visiting the poor of the parish, distributing tracts and blankets
at Christmas, and dying at last full of years, and good works,
and having my virtues inscribed in letters of gold on a granite
shaft. I might have been all this. Miss Dangerfield, and I
wanted to be, '►but that dead mother of yours stepped forward,
interposed her wand of authority, and lo ! to-da}^, and for the
past eighteen years, I have been a Bohemian — houseless, friend-
less, penniless, and reputationless. Now, listen — here is the
story. No names, mind ; no questions when I have done. All
you are to know 1 will tell you. Your father lives — you have
hosts of relatives alive, for that matter, but I don't mean you
shall ever see or know any of them."

She sank back in her chair, played with her watch-chain,
looked at the fire, and told her story in rapid words.

" Your mother was just my age when I first knew her — a
little the elder, I think — and just married. She wasn't hand-

i88

BEFORE MIDNIGHT,

some, but somehow she was attractive — most people liked her
— I did myself for a time. And she was a great heiress, she
was the wife of the handsomest man in England, and she loved
him — ah, well ! as you loved poor Mr. Dantree, perhaps, and
not much more wisely.

" I lived with her — never mind in what capacity ; I lived
with her, and knew more of her than any other human being
alive, includhig her husband. Indeed after the honeymoon —
and how he used to yawn and smoke during the honeymoon —
he saw as little of her as possible. She was the woman he was
married to, and the woman he loved was as beautiful as all the
angels, and not worth a farthing. It's a very old state of
things, Miss Dangerfield — nothing novel about it. Your
mother was frantically jealous, and having the temper of a
spoiled child, made his lor — I mean, made your father's life a
martyrdom, with endless tears and reproaches. When she sat
sobbing sometimes, swelling her eyes, and reddening her nose,
and looking very ugly, I used to pity her, and once I ventured
to offer my humble sympathy, and call my — her husband a
wretch. Do you know how she received it ? She jumped up
and slapped my face."

"I am glad to hear it," Katherine said, with composure.
" She served you right."

"Ah! no doubt! K7Z<( would have done the same, I am
sure. Well, it was about that time the romance of my life
began. Your mother's brother came from Ireland to make her
a visit, and we met. He was only twenty \ I was your age,
seventeen. He was handsome and poor — your mother had got
all the money, he all the beauty of the family. I was — my
modesty makes me hesitate to say it — considered pretty in those
days — that is, in a certain gypsy style of prettiness. It was a
style that suited him, at least, and we looked at each other, and
fell in love, and earth turned to Paradise, and we were among
the blest.

I don't need to tell you what followed, do I ? — the meet-
ings by chance, the appointments, the twilight walk, the moon-
light rambles, the delicious blissful folly of it all ? No need to
tell you — your own experience is recent. Let me skip the
sentimental and keep to hard facts. A month passed — court-
ship progresses rapidly with two people of twenty and seven-
teen. We were engaged and we must be married at once, or
life would be insupportable. But how ? Youths of twenty and
girls of seventeen cannot marry clandestinely and yet legally

BEFORE MIDNIGHT,

in England, except under very great difficulties — under perjury,
in fact. As deeply as he adored me, he was not prepared to
perjure himself on my account. We must try a Scotch mar-
riage for it — there was nothing else — and think about the le-
gality afterward. He was poor — I was poorer. What v/e
were to live on after marriage was an unanswerable question.
We never tried to answer it — we must be married first at all
risks — time enough to think of all these prosaic details after.

" No one suspected our secret — his folly and my presump-
tion, that is what they termed it. We had fixed the day of our
flight — we had packed our portmanteaus — in less than a week
we would be in Scotland, and united as fast as Scottish mar-
riage laws can unite, when all of a sudden my la — your motlier's
sharp, gray eyes were opened and saw the truth. A note of
his to me fell into her hands and she opened and read it. Not
an honorable thing to do — eh, Katherine ? It told her all — of
our flight in two days, of our proposed marriage — all.

" I have told you, Katherine, that you are like your mother.
You are. You have taken all your troubles quietly, and made
no outcry, no complaint. She took things quietly, too. Three
hours after she got that note she came to me, quiet, composed,
and determined.

' Harriet,' she said, ' I am going into the country for a day
— only a day. Pack a few things and be ready to accompany
me in an hour.'

I stood confounded. He was away ; what would he say
when he came back. But it was impossible for me to disobey,
and then — only for a day. We would be back in time after all.

" For a day ! Katherine, she never stopped until we were
in Cornwall. She had an uncle, a rector there ; he and his
wife lived in a lonesome old gray house on the sea-coast. It
was late at night when the rumbling stage-coach brought us to
the door ; and I was worn out with fatigue. I asked for some
tea ; my — -your mother gave it to me graciously, with her own
hand, a smile on her lips, and a sleeping potion in the cup.

" ' You must be tired, my poor Harriet,' she said ; 'and you
didn't think we were coming all the way to Cornwall. No
more did I, but I took a sudden fancy to pay the old place a
flying visit.'

" ' A flying visit ? ' I repeated wearil}^ ' Then you mean — '
'''To return to town to-morrow, my dear child. Certainly
you don't suppose / could exist here, and in the height of the
London season too ? But I think country air and solitude will

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

yoit good. Good-night, Harriet; you look sleepy; don'fe
let me keep you awake.*

" I remember her laughing as she went out, then my eyelids
swayed and fell, and I slept the sleep of the drugged.

"The noon sunshine of the next day lilled my room when I
awoke. I was still lying back in my chair, dressed. I had not
been to bed. My head ached, my eyes felt hot and heavy — I
was unused to opium in any shape then, and its effects sickened
me. I struggled wearily with memory. With a sliarp ])ang I
recollected it was the day fixed for my wedding day, and I was
here alone, and he was — where ?

"And she had done it all. The first glow of that fire of
quenchless hate that has burned ever since kindled in my heart
then. I went downstairs sullenly enough, and asked the rec-
tor's lady for my mist — for your mother. And the rector's lady
— in the secret too — laughed in my face and told me she was
gone. Gone ! While I slept, she was far on her way back to
town, and I was left behind, without a penny in my pocket, a
prisoner in this stupid Cornish rectory.

" Katherine, I shall pass over that time. It is nearly twenty
years ago, but to this day I can't look back without some of
the frantic misery and pain I endured then. I was only seven-
teen, in love, and a fool ; but the pain of fools is as hard to
bear as the pain of wise men. I understood it all — I was never
to see him again. She had found us out, and this was her plot !
I threw myself face downward on the floor of my room, and lay
there for twelve hours, neither moving, nor eating, nor speak-
ing. And then I got up and went downstairs and — kept si-
lent, still, and waited.

"Two months passed away — two months. A short time
enough, as I reckon time now — an eternity then. My order
of release came at the end of that time. Old Markham, the
butler, was sent for me, and I was taken back to town. I
asked him just one question on the road.

" ' Where was young Mr. ? ' and I got the answer I looked

for. Mr. had joined the — th Rilles, and gone out to Can-
ada a fortnight before.

" I said no more. I went back to town ; and your mother
and I met. She looked a little afraid of me in that first mo-
ment— and she had reason.

"'You must forgive my running away and leaving you,
Harriet,' she said. * It was a whim of mine, a practical joke,
knowing how you hate the country, you child of London. It

BEFORE MIDNIGHT.

191

tiron't Tiappen again, and I have hosts of presents for you that
I know you will be charmed with.'

I thanked her, and took the presents — took everything that
was given to me, and bided my time. I knew, just as well as
though she had told me, how she had laughed and ridiculed her
brother into the army, and out of England. I knew it all, and
she knew that I knew it, but we never spoke of it — never once
— until the hour of her death.

"There. Katherine 1 that is my story ; that is the secret of
my hatred of your mother. Don't you think she deserved it ? "

''From you — yes," Katherine answered pron^ptly ; "at the
same time I think she did exactly right. She knew what you
were, doubtless, and took the only means of saving her brother.
Gentlemen and officers don't, as a rule, marry their sisters'
waiting maids."

Mrs. Vavasor sprang to her feet. That random arrow had
sped home.

"It is false!" she gasped. "I was no waiting-maid — you
know nothing — "

"It is true!" exclaimed Katherine, also rising. "You
were a waiting-maid — and I know all I desire to know at pres-
ent. My mother was a lady, her brother was an ofhcer in the
— th Rifles, my father lives and will recognize his old servant
when he sees her, Harriet Lelacheur ! "

Mrs. Vavasor stood white, terrified, dumb. Good Heavens !
what a fool she had been to speak at all to such a girl as this.

"You see I know your real name, among your many aliases.
As I have found out that, so I shall find out all the rest. .As
surely as we both live and stand here, I shall one day discover
my father and punish you. I devote my life to that purpose — •
to finding out who I am, that I may be revenged on my ene-
mies. On you, on Peter Dangerfield, on Gaston Dantree. I
shall one day be avenged for all the bitter, cruel wrong you
have done me. I am only a girl, alone in the world, without
friends or money, but I shall keep my word. Secretly and in
the dark as you have worked, so I shall work, and when my
time comes the mercy you have shown will be dealt back to
you. Now good-night, Mrs. Vavasor. We understand each
other, 1 think."

She opened the door, looked back once, darkly, menacingly,
then it closed afier her, and she was gone.

Ninon sat up for her mistress. It was close upon midnight
when that mistress reached Scarswood. But she felt no fatigue

192

''RESURGAMP

— some inward spirit, whether of good or evil, sustained het.
As she parted with the girl she laid two sovereigns in her hand.

"You have been a good girl, Ninon," she said, kindly, to
a very capricious mistress. Thank you for all your patience,
and good-night."

She went to her room, but not to sleep. It v/as disordered
— she set it to rights. Her jewels — all — lay in their velvet and
ivory caskets, her rich dresses hung in the wardrobe and clos-
ets, her bridal dress among them. She took a small portman-
teau, packed a few articles of dress and linen, a few of her most
cherished presents, one or two books and souvenirs, closed and
locked it. Then, still dressed as she was, she sat down by the
window and waited for the dawn.

It came — rosy and golden, and touched the eastern windows
into flame. Then she arose, and taking the portmanteau in
her hand, went softly out down the stairs and along to that door
in the turret by which she had gone out and come in last night.
She closed it noiselessly — the household were not yet astir —
and walked rapidly down the crisp, frozen avenue to the gates.
The rising sun shot red lances through the brown boles of the
trees, gilded the many windows and turrets and tall chimneys
of the old hall, making a wonderfully bright and fair picture of
early morning beauty, had she but turned to see.

But she never once looked back.

CHAPTER XVIL

RESURGAM."

ND how is your patient to-night, Mrs. Otis ? Any
change for the better yet ? "

Dr. Graves asked the question, blustering in like the
god of the wind. A high gale roared without, a few
feathery flakes floated past the windows in the stormy twilight.
In the little sitting-room of the widow Otis' cottage a bright
fire burned cheerily, the red, warm light streaming through the
window-curtains far out upon the frost-bound road.

A frost-bound and lonely road, utterly forsaken this bleak
January afternoon, on the very outskirts of Castleford, a full

*'resurgam:'

193

quarter of a mile from any other habitation, and flanked on one
side by a low, gray Methodist chai)el set in the center of a
graveyard. The white and gray headstones glimmered athwart
the wintry gloaming, now, like- white and gray ghosts.

Mrs. Otis, sitting placidly before her pleasant fire, got up as
Dr. Graves come noisily in. She was the neatest of all little
women, done up in a spotless dress of bombazine, a spotless
white neckerchief and widow's cap, and a pale, placid, moth-
erly face.

"Good evening, Dr. Graves. I thought it was Henry. -
Come to the fire — bitterly cold, is it not, outside ? My patient
— well / don't see much improvement there, but Henry says
he improves, and of course Henry knows best. Take this
chair — do, and try and thaw out."

Dr. Graves took the cushioned rocker, and spread himself
out luxuriously to the blaze.

"Where is Henry? I wanted to see him."

*' Oh, among his poor patients somewhere — he will be along
to tea presently. Any news to-night, doctor ? I mean — "

" You mean the Scarswood tragedy, of course, ma'am — no-
body in Sussex, I believe, talks of anything else latterly. No,
no news, and no news in this case does not mean good news.
The funeral is over, as you know, an.d there is no will, and
everything falls to that pitiful, pettifogging little screv/ of an at-
torney, Peter Dangerfield — everything, Mrs. Otis — everything.
He's Sir Peter now ; and among all the baronets who have
reigned at Scarswood since the days of James I., I don't believe
such a baronet ever disgraced a -good old name. She's not got
a rap, not a farthing, ma'am — poor as a church mouse, and
poorer, for church mice can steal, if they get a chance, and she
can't. She's got to work now, Mrs. Otis — got to go out into
the hard world and earn the bread and beef of everyday life.
Nursery governess or something o£?that sort; she isn't qualified
even for that, poor thing ! poor thing ! "

" But, Doctor Graves, this seems a little too dreadful — too
cruel. Where are all her friends — all our resident gentry?
Must all turn their backs upon her because she chances not to
be Sir John's real daughter ? "

"She's down in the world, Mrs. Otis, and it's the vv^ay of the
world to speed the miserable sinner who falls with a parting
kick. Still in this case a few have come forward and ottered
her a home generously enough — the Talbots, for instance, and
old Mansfield the lawyer. But she's a young woman of a very

194

resurgam:'

uncommon stamp, ma'am, and charity's charity, gloss it over ^
you may. She has acted very strangely from the first, in the
last way any reasonable man might expect. But you never can
tell by what you previously knew of her how a woman will act
in any given emergency. The Turks and other heathens who
don't treat them as rational beings are in the right of it. They're
not ! Don't laugh, Mrs. Otis, it's nothing to laugh at. There's
that young woman ! Quick-tempered, passionate, proud, gen-
erous, loving, just the sort of young woman to break out into
tears and hysterics, and sobs and reproaches, making the place
too hot for everybody, tearing her hair and rending her gar-
ments. Well, how does she act instead ? Sits there like a
stone, never says a word, never sheds a tear, and broods,
broods in sullen silence. Women who don't cry and scold are
women to be distrusted, ma'am. If I had seen her in hysterics
I would have pitied her ; as it is I honestly declare she fright-
ens me. Now then, ma'am, I'll take a look at our wounded
snake in the grass, and be off before it gets any later and
colder."

He jumped up and stalked away to a large, airy chamber
opening off this cosey sitting-room. Like everything else in
and around the widow's cottage, it was daintily neat and clean.
The last rays of the chill January day came through the muslin
curtains and fell upon Gaston Dantree, lying motionless upon
the bed.

It was an awfully death-like face — in his coffin the man
would hardly look more ghastly, more utterly bloodless and
lifeless than now. His faint breathing, his fluttering pulse
were barely perceptible — no more. His damp, dark hair fell
loose and curly over the white pillows, and in all its spectral
bloodlessness his rarely perfect face kept its dark Southern
beauty still.

Dr. Graves took his wris^ between his fingers and thumb,
drew out his watch, gave his head a little professional shake,
and prepared to count with that owl-like solemnity of visage
venerable physicians counting a patient's pulse ever do wear.

And over her coal fire little Mrs. Otis sat and mused sadly
enough on the fate of that unhappy young lady who a few brief
days ago had been the brightest and most blissful of petted
heiresses and happy brides elect.

"And how strange among all she knew — Dr. Graves and all
— she. should. have chosen my Henry to come forward and cure
the man she loved," she thought with that ^low of pride \yidQwe4

resurgam:'

195

mothers of only sons always feel. " No doubt she kncAv, if
others are too stupid to find it out, how clever he is, how good,
how thoughtful, how kind ! No woman could ever be more
tender in a sick room than he ; and if it be possible for earthly
physician or earthly drugs to bring this ilbfated young man
round, Henry is the one to do it. But I doubt it — I doubt it.
He looks like death, and he knows nothing or nobody.' Hark !
here is Henry now ! "

She started forward. The front hall door opened, a quick
footstep crossed the passage, the sitting-room door was flung
wide, and Mr. Henry Otis, "booted and spurred," stood pale
as a ghost before his mother.

Henry ! " the word was a low, frightened cry, but Henry
Otis' eyes turned from her to the bedroom.

" Is she here ? Who is that ? " He strode across the room
to the inner chamber, then fell back with a look of sick disap-
pointment. " Dr. Graves ! " he said, " only you. And I was
sure I should find her here."

" Find whom here ? What do you mean, young man ? "

"I mean Miss Dangerfield. What! don't you know? She
ran away either last night or this morning from Scarswood, and
no tale or tidings of her are to be found. 1 thought she might
have come here to — to see him."

He crossed abruptly to the fire, and stood staring into it with
a greatly disturbed face.

" Run away ! " the widow and the doctor both exclaimed.
Yes — run away — to her death, most likely."

" Henry ! Good Heaven ! "

" Women have been driven to their death before now by
men — girls have committed suicide for less than slie has under-
gone. It is not those who make most outcry over their troubles
who feel them deepest. What has she left to live for — robbed
of all at one blow ? "

He spoke bitterly — more bitterly than they dreamed he felt.
Months ago he had lifted his eyes to the darkly brilliant heiress
of Scarswood, and had been mad enough to fall in love with her.
To him she had looked the fairest, brightest, best of women,
and not his own mother had ever guessed it. But some of the
sharp, cruel pain of loss broke out of his voice \-\o\\\

" When I think of her, and of him — the traitor — the das-
tard ! " — he looked angrily toward the sick room — " I feel as
though I should like to strangle him. If she is dead, then
Peter Dangerfield and Gaston Dantree are as surely murderers
as ever Cain was."

196

*'RESURGAMr

" Mr. Henry Otis," exclaimed Dr. Graves, with asperity,

will you restrain this incoherent lan2;aage and violent manner,
and tell us in a composed and Christian way what has haj>
pened ? Miss Dangerfield went home all right after the fime-
ral, with Miss Talbot. Did she run away herself, in the night,
or did Peter Dangerfield turn her out ? "

" Scarcely that I think," Henry Otis returned. ^'Even he
would hardly dare do that. Miss Talbot left her at Scarswood,
and went home with her brother. About nine o'clock she sud-
denly made her appearance before the landlord of the ' Silver
Rose,' where the woman Vavasor has been stopping, asked to
see her, and was shown to her room. Mrs. Vavasor was out ;
she returned in about half an hour, and they were shut up to-
gether until half-past ten. Then Miss Dangerfield left the house
alone and on foot, looking more like her own ghost, the land-
lord says, than herself. Her French maid Ninon let her in a
little before midnight — she gave the girl money, bade her good-
night and left her. In the morning she was gone. Search has
been made but no trace of her as yet has been obtained. My
own opinion is that she has made away with herself." .

" And my own opinion is, she has done nothing of the sort ! "
curtly interposed Dr. Graves. " Only arrant cowards commit
suicide, and whatever blood flows in Miss Dangerfield's veins,
there is not one drop of the coward in it. She will live and to
terrible purpose, as Peter Dangerfield, Gaston Dantree, and
that other little villain Vavasor will yet find. Katherine Dan-
gerfield, wherever she is in this, is not in the other world — take
my word for that."

As he took up his gloves and hat, with the last emphatic
words, there came a rap at the door. What presentiment was
it sent Henry Otis to answer it with such a very unprofessional
bound. He threw it open, and — yes — there in the spectral,
wintry dusk before him stood the tall, slender, somber figure —
its black robes, its white face, and great solemn eyes — there
stood Katherine Dangerfield.

He could not speak a word ; the unutterable relief of seeing
her alive and there, for a moment almost unmanned him. It
was she who spoke first, in that faint, sweet voice that haunted
him forever after his life long.

" May I come in ? It is very cold, and I want to see
hhnr

There was something so forlorn in her look, in her loneliness,
in the soft, plaintive tone — something so like a spirit about her,

''resurgam:*

197

that the words he would have spoken died on his lips. She
stood before him alive, but surely death was pictured on her
face. ,

" Come in," he said simply; and she ghded past him, and into
the presence of the other two. ^

" My child ! my child ! " Mrs. Otis said, with a motherly cry ; '.
*' thank Heaven, you are alive, and have come to us. Sit
down ; let me warm your hands — poor, little, frozen hands, j
Oh ! my child, what a fright you have given us all ! Where in '
the world have you been ? "

She sank wearily down in the chair, and let her hands lie in
the elder woman's warm clasp.

I have been with Hannah," she answered slowly ; " at
Bracken Hollow, with my nurse. And to-morrow I leave Cas-
tleford, and I could not go, you know, without seeing Gaston,
poor fellow. 1 would have come before, but I — I don't know —
my head feels all wrong somehow, and I think I have been half
asleep all day. And the walk was so long — so long, and so
cold — oh me ! and I was so dizzy and stupid all the way. How
warm your fire is, and how nice it is to sit here ! "

Her voice died drowsily away, her head drooped against the
back of the chair, her eyelids fell heavily. The three about her
looked in one another's startled faces in dead silence. What
did this mean ?

''My child — Miss Dangerfield!" Mrs. Otis murmured.
"Oh, look up; don't lie like that, Miss Katherine ! Miss
Katherine ! "

"Yes, papa," drowsily; "but I am so sleepy, and I don't
want to get up to breakfast yet. Has Gaston come ? It is
cold for him to ride from Castleford to-night — and he hates the
cold — poor Gaston ! Call me when he comes, papa — I want
to sleep now."

Her eyes closed heavily again, her mind was wandering.
Her troubles had been too much for her then, after all, and had
turned her brain. Dr. Graves bent over her, and shook her
slightly.

"Katherine! Katherine!" he called; "rouse up — Gaston
has come — Gaston is here ! "

She sat up and gazed at him, a bewildered look in her eyes.

"Who calls?" she asked. " Oh, Dr. Graves, is it you?
Where am I ? Is papa sick again ? Wliy, this isn't — " She
looked around, and memory seemed slowly struggling back.
" Yes, I know now — this is Mr. Otis' house — Gaston is here."

198

She rose up suddenly, fully herself. "I am going away, and I
want to see Gaston. How is he to-night, Mr. Otis ? "

" Much as he has been from the first, Miss Dangerfield —
little better, little worse."

" But he will not die ? Mr. Otis, you told me he would not
die!"

" I think he will not ; I have seen worse cases recover. It
is a sort of concussion of the brain. He does not suffer, or at
least is conscious of no suffering."

"Thank Heaven for that ! " she said softly. " May I see
him at once now — and alone? I don't know when I may see
him again ; and, Mr. Otis, you have been so kind, will you take
care of him for me until he is quite well again ? I can't pay
you nov/ — I am poor — but some day if 1 live, I will."

" I need no pay. For your sake, Miss Dangerfield, I will
care for him gladly. I would cherish a dog that had been
yours."

She held out her hand to him with the old bright grace.

" Thank you. I knew I might trust you. 1 must go before
it gets too late. Please take me to him at once."

He led her to the chamber door. White, cold, and motion-
less, in the fast-fading daylight, Gaston Dantree lay. She had
not seen him since that fatal wedding night, and now she saw
him again — thus. She stood an instant ; then she entered and
closed the door. They heard the soft rustle of her dress as she
knelt by the bedside, then silence fell.

No one spoke. The moments passed ; the night had en-
tirely shut down ; the wind hovvled through the desolate church-
yard, whose ghostly gravestones they could see glancing in the
darkness. A hushed expectation held them — of what they
knew not — a strange, prophetic sort of awe. Mrs. Otis was the
first to move. The mantel-clock struck six ; she turned softly
and lit the lamp, then stood waiting again.

Five minutes — ten — no sign, no sound from that inner room.
Fifteen — twenty — the two men looked at each other uneasily.
Twenty-five — thirty. Then Dr. Graves spoke.

" She has been there long enough. It is no place for her in
her present state. Mrs. Otis, do you go and tell her to come
out."

The little widow, full of foreboding, tip-toed to the door, and
tapped. No answer. A second tap, louder ; still no reply. A
third rap — loudly this time, but the only answer profoundest
silence.

"RESURGA3V'

" Open the door, mother ! " called the voice of her son,
sounding strange and husky — " open at once ! "

Mrs. Otis obeyed — ever so little at first, and not looking in.

" Miss Katherine," she called, "may I enter ?"

Still no response. Then she opened the door wide, and re-
coiled with a cry.

" Henry, the child has fallen — she has fainted ! "

Henry Otis was in the room before the words were spoken.
Katherine was lying on her face on the floor by the bedside,
where she had softly fallen. In one second she was uphfted in
Henry Otis' arms and borne out into the light. Her head fell
limp over his arm, her eyes were closed, her features rigid.
He laid her upon a sofa — the two doctors bent over her — one
with his hand on her heart, the other on her pulse. The heart
lay still, the pulse beat no longer. Rigid, white, stark she lay,
already growing cold.

" Oh, Henry, speak ! " his mother cried. Doctor Graves,
tell me, has she fainted ? "

The elder doctor removed his hand from her heart, and stood
up very pale himself in the lamplight.

"Not fainted, madam," he said quietly ; dead i^^

Sir Peter Dangerfield sat alone in the library of Scarswood ;
the silken curtains were drawn ; firelight and lamplight made
the room brilliant ; his purple easy chair was drawn up before
a writing-table littered with deeds and documents, and Sir
Peter, in gold-bowed spectacles, was trying to read.

Trying — not reading. For ever between him and the parch-
ment page, a face menacing and terrible kept coming, the face
of Katherine, as he had seen her last.

Where was Katherine? Dead or alive, she had sworn to be
revenged. Was she dead ? He shuddered through all his little
craven soul and heart at the thought. Men had looked at him
darkly and askance all day, and turned coldly away from him
while he spoke. There had been whispers of suicide. What
if while he sat here in this warm, lighted, luxurious room, she
lay stark and frozen under the stars — dead by her own hand !

There was a tall, smoke-colored bottle on another table, with
glasses. He was usually a very anchorite for abstemiousness,
but he sprang up now, with a muttered oath, filled himself a
stiff glass of brandy, and drained it at a draught.

"I wish to Heaven I had given her that infernal three thou-
sand, and be hanged to it ! " he muttered, flinging himself back

200

sulkily in his chair. " Curse the luck ! What's the use of a
title and a fortune if a fellow's life is to be badgered out of him
in this way? There's that greedy little devil, Mrs. Vavasor,
not a penny would she throw off. And now there's Katherine.
I wish I hadn't said what I did to her. If they ever find — I
mean when they find her — I'll give her that three thousand, if
she takes it, and have done with the whole confounded thing.
But she's so confoundedly proud that likely as not she'll turn
cantankerous and refuse. There's no pleasing a woman any-
way ; refuse it and you insult her, offer it and you insult her
more. Oh, come in, whoever you are, and be hanged to you ! "

This pleasant concluding adjuration was in response to a rap
at the door. A tall, serious footman in purple plush breeches
and white stockings appeared.

^* Dr. Graves, Sir Peter," spake this majestic menial, and
vanished.

Sir Peter arose, as Dr. Graves, hat in hand, very pale and
solemn of visage, stood before him. News of Katherine at last.
He grasped the back of his, chair with one hand and faced his
visitor almost defiantly, as one who should say "whatever has
happened /at least have had nothing to do with it."

" Well, sir ? " he demanded.

"Sir Peter Dangerfield, I bring news of— of Katherine.
She is found."

The little baronet's heart gave a great leap. Found! then
she had not committed suicide.

" Ah ! " he said with a look of sulky injury, " I knew as much.
I thought she wasn't the sort of girl to take arsenic or throw
herself into the nearest mill-stream. So she's found, is she ?
And where has she been, pray, since she ran away from Scars-
wood ?"

He resumed his chair, folded his arms, and looked up at his
visitor. But still Dr. Graves kept that face of supernatural
solemnity.

" When she ran away from Scarswood, Sir Peter, she went
to her old nurse at Bracken Hollow. About three hours ago,
while I was at Otis' cottage, seeing that unlucky chap Dantree,
she came."

" She did ! To see Dantree, too, I suppose. Extremely
forgiving of her, I must say, but not in the least like Katherine
Dangerfield. Perhaps she is going to turn romantic sick-nurse
to her wounded cavalier, and end by getting him to marry — "

" Stop, Sir Peter Dangerfield 1 " the old doctor said hoarsely ;

resurgam:'

20I

" not another word, Katherine Dangerfield will never marry
Gaston Dantree or any other mortal man. She is dead ! "

" Dead ! " Sir Peter leaped from his chair as though he had
been speared. " Dead, Graves ! Good God ! I thought you
said — I thought — "

His white Hps refused to finish the sentence ; he stood star-
ing with horror-struck eyes at the elder man.

" Yes, Sir Peter — dead ! Of heart-disease, no doubt, latent
and unsuspected. This is how it happened : She came to see
Dantree before leaving Castleford — those were her words.
She looked shockingly ill and haggard, and her mind seemed to
wander a little. She fell into a sort of stupor as she sat before
the fire and complained of her head. We aroused her after a
little time, and she went into the sick room. She shut the
door, and we heard her kneel down. Then there was a long
silence, so long, so profound, that we grew alarmed. Mrs.
Otis knocked again and again at the door, and received no
answer. Then we opened it and went in. She had fallen on
her face and was stone dead ! '

" Great Heaven!"
She must have been dead some minutes — ten or more, for
she was already growing cold. I left her there when I found
life utterly extinct, and nothing more possible to be done, and
came here. It is shocking, Sir Peter — it is horrible ! And
only yesterday, as it were, this house was all alight for the wed-
ding."

And then the old doctor's voice broke, and he turned his
back abruptly on Sir Peter and faced the fire.

Dead silence fell. The clock ticked, the cinders dropped.
Dr. Graves looked fixedly into the ruddy coals, and Sir Peter
sat stiff and upright in his chair, quite ghastly to look at.

" Dead or alive, I will be revenged ! " The horrible words
rang in his ear like his own death-knell. They meant nothing,
perhaps ; they were but the passionate, impotent rage of an
outraged woman, who knew his cowardly nature to the full, but
they did their work. Katherine was dead ! and Katherine was
vindictive enough to carry her hatred and revenge into that
, world of shadows whither she had gone, and come back from
the grave to pursue him. Greater and wiser than poor litde Sir
Peter Dangerfield have devoutly beUeved in ghosts; he was
superstitious to the core. And Katherine was dead— dead —
dead !^ Great, heavy drops stood on his pinched, paUid face,
and his voice was husky as he spoke : ... - ^

- 9*

202

RESURGAMy

*'Dr. Graves, there must be some mistake here — there must
She couldn't die in that way — it is too horrible — and she was
so young — and so strong — never sick a day in her life, by
George ! Oh, it is impossible, you know — entirely impossible.
It's a fit or a faint, if you like — not death. Let us go back and
see what can be done for her — I'll go with you. Let us be off
at once. I tell you she can't be dead. I don't want her to die.
It's a prolonged fainting fit, doctor — take my word for it — noth-
ing more. Strong, healthy girls like Katherine don't drop off
in a minute like that."

" Sir Peter," the old physician said quietly, " I am sixty-five
years of age, and for the past forty years I have seen death in
all its phases — lingering and instantaneous. And I tell you she
is dead. But we will go to her as you say — ^you can convince
yourself with your own eyes."

But still Sir Peter would not be convinced ; would not —
could not "make her dead." He hurried from the room,
changed his dress, ordered round his horse, and in fifteen min-
utes the two men were galloping full speed through the keen
frosty night into Castleford.

The town lay hushed and dark — it was close upon eleven
now. Neither spoke a word ; the breathless pace did not admit
of talk. They reached the Otis cottage, its whole front lit, and
figures flitted rapidly to and fro. And Peter Dangerfield's heart
under his riding-coat was throbbing so rapidly, he turned sick
and reeled dizzily for an instant, as he sprang from the saddle.
The next he rallied and followed his leader in.

On the sofa, in the little sitting-room, where they had first
placed her, Katherine still lay. They had removed her hat and
cloak, and loosened all her clothes, but over that rigid face the
solemn seal of eternal sleep had fallen. They had closed her
eyes and folded the pulseless hands, and calmly, as though
sleeping, and fairer than ever in life, she lay. The haggard
look had all gone and a great calm lay upon it.

So Peter Dangerfield saw her again.

There were three persons in the room. Beside Mr. Otis and
his mother, the old ex-Indian nurse from Bracken Hollow, sad,
gaunt and gray, sat close by her nurseling, swaying ceaselessly
to and fro, and uttering a sort of moaning cry, like a dumb
creature in pain. She lifted her inflamed eyes and fixed them
with savage hatred upon the pallid fa.ce of the baronet.

"Ay," she said, bitterly; " you're a fine gentleman now, little
Peter Dangerfield, and you do well to come and look at your

203

handiwork ; for you're her murderer, you and that dying, false-
faced villain lying yonder, as sure as ever men were murderers.
The law won't hang you, I suppose, but it has hung men v/ho
deserved it less. I wonder you aren't afraid as you look at
her — afraid she will rise up from her death-bed and accuse
you."

He turned his tortured face toward her, quite horrible to see
in its fear and ghastliness.

For Heaven's sake, hush ! " he said. " I never meant this !
I never thought she would die ! I would give all I am worth
to bring her back to life. I couldn't, help it — I wouldn't have
had it happen for worlds. Don't drive me mad with your talk ! '*

" Liar ! " old Hannah cried, tov/ering up and confronting him ;
" double liar and coward ! Who refused her her dying father's
bequest ? — who offered her the deadliest and most dastardly
insult it is possible to offer woman ? And you say you are
sorry, and ask me not to drive you mad ! I tell you, if the
whole town rose up and stoned you, it would not be half your
deserts, I say again, I wonder that, dead as she lies there be-
fore you, she does not rise to accuse her murderer. Mr. Henry
Otis, this is your house, and she thought you her friend. Show
yourself her friend now, and turn her murderer out ! "

" Hannah, Hannah, hush ! " interrupted Mrs. Otis, scandal-
ized and alarmed. Whatever Sir Peter might be, it was not in
this good woman's nature to do other than reverence the Lord
of Scarswood, the man of eight thousand a year.

But her son stepped forward — pale, cold, stern.

"Hannah's right, mother," he said, "and he shall go. Sir
Peter Dangerfield, this house is no place for you. You have
come here and convinced yourself she is dead — driven to all by
you and that man yonder. He is beyond the pale of justice —
you are not and, by Heaven ! you shall go ! " He threw wide
the house door, his dark eyes flashing, and pointed out into the
darkness. " Go, Sir Peter, and never set foot across threshold
of mine again. She turned to me in her trouble, she came to
me in her dark hour, and she is mine now — mine. Go ! — you
coward, you robber and insulter of helpless girlhood, and come
here no more ! "

The fiery words scourged him, averted faces met him on
every side. And, calm and white, Katherine lay before him,
with closed eyes and folded hands ; most awful of all ! With-
out a word he slunk away like a whipped hound', the door closed
upon him, and he stood alone under the black winter night.

204

''resurgam:'

Alone ! Would he ever be alone again ? Sleeping and
waking, would not that terrible, v/hite, fixed face pursue him.

Dead, I will come back from the grave if the dead can ! "
Would the words she had spoken, the dreadful words he had
laughed a,t once, ever cease to ring in his ears now ? Would
they not hunt him until they drove him mad?

Sir Peter Dangerfield rode home.

Home ! What was Scarswood better than a haunted house
now ? He shut himself up in his library, lighted the room to
more than the brilliance of day, locked the door, seized the
brandy bottle and deliberately drank himself into a state of
beastly stupor. When morning dawned, Sir Peter, lying on
the hearthrug, was far beyond all fear of ghosts or goblins in
heavy, bestial sleep.

And Katherine Dangerfield was dead. The papers recorded
it, the town rang with it — the whole neighborhood was utterly
shocked. That little cottage on the outskirts of Castleford
awoke and found itself famous. Crowds flocked hither all day
on foot and in carriages, poor and rich, to look on that placid,
dead face. And so the tragedy of Scarswood had ended thus.
Sir John Dangerfield lay in his tomb, Gaston Dantree, the bril-
liant adventurer, lay in his darkened room hovering between
life and death, and Katherine, so bright, so dashing, so full of
life and hope, and love and happiness only a few brief weeks
ago, lay here — hke this. " In the midst of life we are in death."
Everybody shook their heads and quoted that ; the funeral ser-
mon was preached from it. All who had ever known her bowed
down now in reverence before the solemn wonder of the wind-
ing sheet.

People came forward — two or three of the county families,
the Talbots at their head — and offered to take the body and
have the obsequies of appropriate grandeur. But Henry Otis
set those resolute lips of his, and doggedly refused.

" It was to me she came in her trouble," he answered, " not
to yoit. No- man alive has a better right, or a stronger claim
now than I. And I'll never give her up. She refused all your
aid alive, she shall not seek it dead. From my house she goes
to yonder churchyard — I will give her up to none of you."

Edith Talbot never left the house. She sat by her dead
friend, weeping incessantly. Feeling against the new baronet
ran very high and bitterly. No one but old Hannah knew of
the terrible insult of that other night, but everybody suspected
foul play. He made no appearance among them, but shut

''RESURGAMy

205

himself up in his gloomy mansion and drowned thought in
drink.

The funeral took place two days after, and they laid her in
a remote corner of that little obscure churchyard, among the
lowly of Castleford. A fir-tree reared its gloomy branches
above the grave — a gray cross marked the spot. They laid her
there in the twilight of a wintry afternoon, with bowed heads
and sad, solemn faces, and the story of Katherine Dangerfield
was told and done. One by one they dropped away to their
homes, Edith Talbot among the last, still crying behind her vail,
and led away by her brother.

And then Flenry Otis stood alone over the grave of the
woman he loved and had lost. He stood with folded arms
while the short, dark gloaming ran on, his hat lying beside him,
the keen- wind lifting his hair unheeded. He had loved her as
he never would love any other woman, and this was the end.

Katherine,

^TAT 17.

Resurgam.

That was all ; no second name. Who knew what that name
might be, or if she really had a claim to any name whatever ?
And so, while he stood there, the twilight fell, and it was his
mother's voice, calling plaintively, that aroused him at last.

" Henry ! Henry ! come home, dear ! You will get your
death standing there bareheaded in the cold ! "

An hour later, when the slender crescent moon lifted her
sickle over the blue sea-line, another pilgrim came to that new-
made grave, fearfully, and by stealth.

Peter Dangerfield had not dared come to the funeral, but he
came now to the grave. He was horribly afraid still, but all
the same, he could not stay away. It was like a hideous dream
to him. Katherine dead ! — that bright, dashing young Amazon,
whose laugh had rang so clear, whose eyes had flashed so bright !
Katherine dead ! And they call him her murderer !

He made his way along the little pathway, worn by humble
feet, to the spot where they had laid her. The faint new moon
flickered on the granite cross. He knelt on one knee, and
read 'the inscription :

Katherine,

-^TAT 17.

Resurgam.

. What a brief record it was I And, Resurgam— -^^l^dX did that

206

'*RESURGAM."

word mean, he wondered, stupidly. Then it dawned upon him
"Resurgam" meant I shall rise again>^ "I shall rise
AGAIN ! "

From her very grave the dead girl spoke and threatened him.

How long he lingered there he never knew. He felt half
stupefied, partly with the liquor he had been drinking, partly
with abject fear, partly with cold. He was all cramped and
stift' when at last he arose to go. His horse stood outside the
little gate. He mounted him, let the reins fall upon his neck,
while his head sank upon his breast. How the animal made
his way home — how he got into the house, into his own room,
into bed, he could never have told. All that shone out vividly
from that night in his after life was the dream that followed.

He was wandering through a dark and unknown country —
bleak and forsaken. He could see the stars in the sky, the new
moon, a solitary fir-tree, and gravestones everywhere. It was
one perpetual graveyard, and a spectral figure, with long, float-
ing brown hair, and waving white arms, beckoned him on and
on. He could not see the face, but he knew it was Katherine.
He was tired, and sick, and cold, and footsore. Their dismal
road ended at last in a ghastly precipice, where, looking down
sheer thousands of feet below, he saw a seething hell of waters.
Then his shadowy guide turned, and he saw Katherine Danger-
field's dead face. The stiff lips parted, and the sweet, strong
voice spoke as of old :

Living, I will pursue you to the very ends of the earth.
Dead, I will come back from the grave, if the dead can ! "

The words she had spoken in her passionate outburst she
spoke again. Then her arms encircled him, then he was lifted
up, then with a shriek of terror he was hurled over that dizzy
cliff — and awoke sitting up in bed, trembling in every limb.

Only a dream ! And was this night but the beginning of
the end !

PART !!•

CHAPTER I.

LA REINE BLANCHE.

HE place was Her Majesty's Theater — the opera the
" Figlia del Regimento," — the hour after the first act
— the time, the last week of the London season — and
the scene was brilliant beyond all description. " All
the world" was there, and the prima donna was that sweetest
of singers, that loveliest of women, that most charming of
actresses, Mademoiselle Nillsson.

Her Majesty's was full — one dazzling blaze of light from
dome to parquet, tier upon tier of magnificently dressed
women, a blaze of diamonds, a glow of rainbow bouquets, a
flutter of fans, a sparkle of bright eyes, a vision of fair faces,
and hghts and warmth, and Donizetti's matchless music sweep-
ing and surging over all.

The house had just settled back into its seats, for a few
moments the whole audience had risen, eji masse, at the en-
trance of royalty. In the royal box now sat the Prince and
Princess of Wales, Prince Arthur, and the Princess Louise.

The bell had tinkled for the rising of the curtain upon the
second act of the opera when a fashionably late party of three
entered one of the proscenium boxes, and a thousand eyes and
as many "double barrels" turned instantly in that direction.
You saw at once that these late arrivals were people of note,
and looking with them you would merely glance at two of the
party, and then your eyes would have fixed, as countless eyes
there did, upon the third face — a wondrously fair face. The
party were the Earl of Ruysland, his only daughter, the Lady
Cecil CHve, and his niece Ginevra, Lady Dangerfield. And
the Earl of Ruysland's only daughter had been the most brilliant
belle of this London season, as she had been of the two pre-

208

- LA REINE BLANCHE.

ceding, and not in all that dazzling house, not in the royal box
itself, looked forth a fairer, sweeter face than that which looked
with perfect self-possession over the audience now.

She had advanced to the front at once with high-bred com-
posure, drawn back the curtain with one slim, gloved hand, and
leaned ever so slightly forward, with a half smile upon her face.
In that musical interlude, before the rising of the curtain for
the second time, countless bows and smiles greeted her, which-
ever way she turned. All the lorgnettes in the house seemed
for an instant aimed at that one fair face and queenly head,
upheld with stag-like grace ; but to my Lady Cecil that was a
very old story, and, with all her woman's love of adoration, some-
thing of a weary one. She lay back in her chair, after that
first sweep of the house, threw back her opera cloak, all silk,
swan's-down, and snow cashmere, as seemingly indifferent to all
those eyes as though she sat in the theater alone.

A belle of Belgravia — yes. Lady Cecil was that. It was a
marvelously brilliant face on which the lamplight shone, with
its complexion of pearl, its soft, large, lustrous, brown, gazelle
eyes, its trailing hazel hair, bound back with pearls and roses,
the haughty carriage of the dainty head, the pure Greek type
• of feature, the swaying grace of the tall, slight form. A rarely
perfect face, and as sweet as perfect, with its dreamy tender
eyes, its gravely gentle smile. You would hardly have
dreamed, looking at its delusive innocence, how much mis-
chief my Lady Cecil had done in her day, how much, the gods
willing, she yet meant to do. Those brown, serene eyes, had

slain their thousands and tens of thousands," that delusively
gentle smile had driven men blind and mad with the insanity
called love. A pearl-faced, hazel-eyed Circe who led her vic-
tims down a flower-strewn path with words and smiles of honey,
only to leave them stranded high and dry on the desolate quick-
sand of disappointment, where the bones of her victims
bleached. A flirt by nature — a coquette ripe for mischief, a
beauty without mercy and without heart — that was her charac-
ter, as half the men in London would have told you.

And yet — and yet — how lovely she looked to-night ! how ,
radiant ! how spotless ! Dressed for some after ball, the loose-
falling opera cloak showed you a robe of rose silk, dkcollete^ of
course ; soft touches of rich point-lace, a cluster of rich moss
roses in the corsage, and lace draperies falling open from the
large pearly arm. Looking at her as she sat there, you were
half-inclined, knowing all the enormities, to forgive the deeds

LA REINE BLANCHE.

209

of darkness wrought by so peerless a siren. Fair and fatal ;
and when in repose, even with a touch of sadness, there was
something in it that made you paraphrase the words of the
southern sculptor, speaking of Charles Stuart, " Something evil
will befall her, she carries misfortune on her face."

Her companion was a very excellent foil to the fair, pale,
pensive beauty of the earl's daughter. Lady Dangerfield was
a brunette of the most pronounced type, petite^ four-and-thirty
years old, and by lamplight, in diamonds and amber silk, still
young, and still pretty. Her black hair built up in braids, and
puffs, and curls, by the most unapproachable of Parisian hair-
dressers, was a marvel of art in itself There was a flush on
either sallow cheek — art, or nature? who shall say? — and if
the purple tinting under the eyelids made those black orbs any
longer, bigger, brighter, than when they can)e first from the
hand of a beneficent Providence, v/hose business was it but the
lady's own ?

For the Earl of Ruysland — tall, thin, refined, patrician, and
fastidious — he was fifty odd, with a venerable bald head, shin-
ing like a billiard ball, and two tired, gray eyes. He had been
a handsome man in his day, a spendthrift, a gambler, a dandy,
a member of the famous Beefsteak Club, in his youth. He
had run through two fortunes, and now stood confessed the
poorest peer in Britain.

Two young men in the stalls had been among the first to take
aim at the new-comers, at Lady Cecil, rather, and the longest
to stare.

''^ La Reine Blaiiche is looking her best to-night. Few
reigning beauties stand the wear and tear of three seasons as
the White Queen does."

" La Reine Blanche ! " his companion repeated. " I always
meant to ask you, Delamer, why they called her that. A pretty
idea, too. Why?"

" From some real or fancied resemblance to that other La
Reine Blanche^ Marie Stuart — dazzling and doomed."

Starer No. Two put up his lorgnette and took another survey.

" Not fancied, Delamer — there is a resemblance — quite
striking. The same oval face, the same Greek type, the same
expression, half-tender, half-melancholy, half-disdainful. If
Mary the Queen had a tithe of that beauty, I can understand
now how even the hard-headed Scottish commoners were
roused to enthusiasm as she rode through their midst, and cried
out as one man, * God bless that sweet face I' "

2IO

LA REINE BLANCHE.

That will do, Wyatt. Don't you get rotised to enthusiasm";
and don't look too long at Ruysland's peerless daughter ; she
is like those — what's their names — sirens, you know, who lured
poor devils to death and doom. She's a thorough-paced flirt ;
her coquetries have been as numberless as the stars, and not
half so eternal. She's the highest-priced Circassian in Mayfair,
and you might as well love some bright particular star, etc. ;
and besides, it is au courant at the clubs that she was bidden
in and bought ages ago by some tremendously wealthy Cornish
baronet, wandering at present in foreign parts. He's a sensible
fellow, gives Queenie — they call her Queenie — no end of mar-
gin for flirting, until it suits his sultanship to return, pay the
price, and claim his property. Look at Nillsson instead. She's
married, and a marchioness ; but it's not half so dangerous,
beHeve me, as gazing at La Reine Blanched

"I'm not looking at your La Reine Blanche^' Wyatt an-
swered ; " I'm looking at that man yonder — you see him ? —
very tali, very tanned, very military. If Redmond O'Donnell
be in the land of the living, that is he."

Delamer whirled around, as nearly excited as the principles
of his life would allow a dandy of the Foreign Office to be.

" What ! Redmond O'Donnell ? the man we met two years
ago in Algiers — Le Beau Chasseur, as they used to call him,
and the best of good fellows. By George ! you're right, Wyatt,
it is O'Donnell ! Let us join him at once."

A few moments later, and the two embryo diplomats from
the F. O. had made their way to the side of a tall, soldierly,
sunburned man who sat quite alone three tiers behind.

" What? You, O'Donnell ! I give you my word I'd as soon
have expected to see Pio Nono sitting out the opera as Le
Beau Chasseur. Glad to see you in England, dear old boy,
all the same. When did you come ? "

The man addressed looked up — his dark, grave face lighting
into sudden brightness and warmth as he smiled. It was a
handsome face, a thoroughly Celtic face, despite the golden
tan of an African sun, with blue eyes, to which long, black
lashes lent softness and depth, profuse dark brown hair, and
most desirable curling mustache. It was a gallant figure,
straight, tall, and strong as a Norway pine, and with the true
trooper swing.

" Delamer — Wyatt — this is a surprise ! " He shook hands
cordially with the two men, with a smile and glance pleasant
to see. " When did I come ? Only reached London at noon

LA REINE BLANCHE.

211

fo-day, after a smooth run from New Orleans of twenty-two
days."

" New Orleans ! And what the deuce took Captain O'Don-
nell, of the Third Chasseurs d'Afrique, to New Orleans ? "

" A family matter — I'll tell you later. As we only remain a
day or two in London, I thought I would drop in to her
Majesty's and hear Nillsson for the first time."

" We ! O'Donnell, don't tell me there's a lady in the case —
that the madness of matrimony has seized you — that you have
taken to yourself a wife of the daughters of the land. You
Irishmen are all aUke, fighting and love-making — love-makir.g
and fighting. Ah ! " Mr. Delamer shook his head and sighed
faintly ; " she isn't an Arab, I hope — is she ? "

O'Donnell laughed.
There's a lady in the case, but not a wife. Don't you
know I have a sister, Delamer ? Have no fears for me — my
weaknesses are many and great — for fighting, if you like, but
not for love-making. A brilliant scene this, and faces fair enough
to tempt even so austere an anchorite as Gordon Delamer."

" P^air faces surely," Wyatt said. What do you, fresh from
the desert, think of La Rehie Blanche — that brown-haired god-
dess, whose earthly name is Cecil Clive ? "

" Who ? "

Suddenly and sharply the captain of Chasseurs asked the
question.

"Lady Cecil Clive. AVhat, O'Donnell! has the spell of the
enchantress stretched all the way to Africa, and netted you, too,
in her rose chains? Is it possible you know La Reifie
Blanche V

"No," the chasseur answered, Avith a touch of impatience.
" I don't know your La Reine Blanche. I know — that is, I
once knew, very long ago, Lady Cecil Clive."

" My good fellow," Wyatt murmured plaintively, " don't call
her mine — she isn't. The cakes and cream of life are not for
me. And it's all the same — Lady Cecil, the White Queen,
Delilah, Circe, any name by which fair and fatal sirens have ever
been known. There she sits, ' Queen rose of the rose-bud gar-
den of girls.' The laureate must have had her in his eye when
he wrote ' Maud.' "

The African officer raised his glass and looked long and ear-
nestly at that brilliant vision, rose-crowned and diamond-decked.
Then his glass dropped, and he turned away. Delamer looked
at him curiously.

212

LA REINE BLANCHE,

" The trail of the serpent is over all still ! And you knew
my Lady Cecil. How was it — where was it ?"

" It was in Ireland — many years ago."
In Ireland, and many years ago. One would think the
lovely Queenie were a centenarian. How many years ago ?
Don't be so sphinx-like. Before you went to Algiers ? "
Before I went to Algiers— over six years ago."

" I hope she had nothing to do with you going — it is a way
of hers, sending doomed men to exile ! Anywhere, anywhere
out of the world her slaughtered victims rush. She must have
been young six years ago, but then some of these sorceresses
are fatal from the hour they cut their first teeth. Say, mon
brave, are you too in her list of killed and wounded ? "

" Is she so fatal then ? " O'Donnell asked, shirking the ques-
tion.

" Fatal ! fatal' s no word for it ! Ask Wyatt, ask Lord Long-
lands, ask Sir Godfrey Vance — ask — ask any man in London.
The most merciless flirt that ever demoralized mankind."

And still — at two-and-twenty — Lady Cecil Clive is Lady
Cecil Chve."

" How pat he has her age ? Yes, at two-and-twenty the con-
queress still walks ' in maiden meditation, fancy free.' But
the talk of club and drawing-room is, that early next season we
are to have a brilliant wedding. Sir Arthur Tregenna, to
whom she has been pledged since childhood, comes to claim
her. One might say woo and win, only there was no wooing
in the case. It's a family affair — he has the purse of Fortuna-
tus, she the beauty of the Princess Perfect ; what need of woo-
ing in such a case ? And yet," with a second curious look
" do you know what she told me one night not very long ago ? "

" Not being a wizard — no."

" We were at Covent Garden ; there was an Irish play — a
new thing, and I was behind her chair. We spoke casually of
Ireland, and she told me she had been there and — 'mark it,
Horatio ' — that the happiest days of her life were those days in
Ireland. Oh ! no need to look like that ! I don't insinuate
by any means that you had anything to do with it. Apropos
of no thing, where' s that prince of followers, that paragon of
henchmen, that matchless servitor of the last of the O'Don-
nells, your man Lanty ? "

"Ah, yes, Lanty," Wyatt said; "haven't laughed once, I
assure you, since I last saw Lanty. Don't say you have left
him behind you in Africa 1 "

LA REINE BLANCHE.

213

"Lanty is with me," O'Donnell laughed ; he's Hke Slnbad's
Old Man of die Sea. I couldn't shake him off if I would. I'll
tell him you asked."

''And you only remain a day or two in London?" said
Delamer. Where do you go — to Ireland ? "

" Not at present. We go, my sister and I, to Sussex for a
week or two ; after that to France, then back to Algiers."

''Then dine to-morrow with me at Brooks'. There's a morn-
ing party at Kew, the last of the season, and La Reine
Blanche graces it, of course. No doubt she will be glad to see
an old friend ; you will come ? "

" No." He said it briefly and coldly. " Certainly not ; my
acquaintance with Lord Ruysland's daughter was of the slight-
est. I should never dream of resuming it. Call upon me to-
morrow at my quarters. Here is my card. It is pleasant to
see a familiar face in this, to me, desert of London."

" Cecil," Lord Ruysland said, "a word with you."

The opera and ball were over — they had arrived home, at
the big, aristocratically gloomy mansion in Lowndes Square —
the leaden casket which held this priceless koh^-noor. It was
the town house of Sir Peter Dangerfield, Baronet, of Sussex —
of his lady rather — for Sir Peter rarely came to London in the
season, and Lady Dangerfield' s uncle, the earl, being alto-
gether too poor to have a residence of his own, took up his
abode with his niece.

Lady Cecil stood with one slippered foot on the carpeted
stair, paused at the command and its gravely authoritative
tone. It was half-past four in the morning, and she had
waltzed a great deal, but the pearly complexion was as pure,
the brown eyes as softly lustrous as eight hours before. With
her silks flowing, her roses and jewels, her fair, patrician face,
she looked a charming vision.

" You want me, papa ? " she said in surprise. " Certainly.
What is it ? "

" Come this way."

He led the way to the drawing-room — yet lit, but deserted —
closed the door, and placed a chair for her. Still more sur-
prised, she sat down. An interview at five in the morning !
What did it mean ?

" Cecil," he began, with perfect abruptness, " do you know
Tregenna is on his way here ? Will be with us in less than a
week ? "

214

LA REINE BLANCHE,

" Papa ! "

It was a sort of cry of dismay. Then she sat silent, looking
at him aghast.

" Well, my dear, there is no occasion to wear that face of con-
sternation— is there ? One would think I had announced the
coming of an ogre, instead of the gallant gentleman whose wife
you are to be. I had a letter from him last night. He is in Paris
— he will be here, as I say, in a week. Will you read it ? There
is a message, of course, for you."

He held it out to her. As she stretched forth her hand and
took it she did not look at him. A faint flush, all unusual, had
arisen to either cheek. She took it, but she did not read it —
she twisted it through her fingers, her eyes still averted.

Her father stood and looked at her curiously. I have de-
scribed Raoul, Earl of Ruysland, have I not?— tall, thin, high-
bred, two keen gray eyes, a thin, cynical mouth, ai!d long, slim
hands and feet. " The ingredients of human happiness," says
M. Diderot, pithily, " are a good digestion, a bad heart, and no
conscience." The noble Earl of Ruysland possessed the in-
gredients of happiness in their fullest. He had never loved
anybody in his life, except, perhaps, for a few months, a wom-
an he had lost. He never hated any one ; he would not have
put himself an inch out of his way to serve God or man ; he
was perfectly civil to everybody he came across ; he had never
lost his temper since the age of twenty. His manners were
perfect, he passed for the most amiable of men, and — he had
never done a good turn in his life. He had squandered two
noble fortunes — his own and his wife's, and he stood now, as
Delainer had said, the poorest peer in Britain. He had been
everywhere and knew everybody, and might have sung with
Captain Morris :

" In life I've rung all changes through.
Run every pleasure down."

At fifty-six every rood of land he owned was mortgaged, his
daughter was portionless, and he was a dependent — nothing
better — on the bounty of his niece's rich husband, the Sussex
baronet, Sir Peter Dangerfield.

They v/ere a very old family, the Ruyslands, of course. The
first had come over with Noah and the Ark, the second history
mentions Avith William and the conquest. And the one aim
and object of Lord Ruysland' s life was to see his only daughter
the bride of Sir Arthur Tregenna.

*' I have a word of warning to give you, Queenie," Lord

LA REINE BLANCHE.

215

Ruysland said, after that long pause ; "it is this : Stop flirt-
ing."

" Papa ! "

" You have made that remark ah-eady, my dear," the earl
went on, placidly ; " and there is no need for you to grow in-
dignant. I suppose you won't pretend to say you dorUt flirt !
I'm not a tyrannical father, I think. I haven't hitherto interfered
with your pastimes in any way. You were born a coquette,
poor child, and took to it as naturally as a duckling takes to
water. Let me see," very carelessly this, but with a keen, side-
long glance — "you tried your small weapon first on the Celtic
heart of that fine young Irish lad, O'Donnell, some six years
ago, and have been at it hai'd and fast ever since."

" Papa ! " She half rose, the color vivid now on the clear,
pale cheeks.

" And again papa ! I speak the truth, do I not, my dear ?
You are a coquette born, as I have said, and knowing you pos-
sessed of pride enough and common-sense enough to let no man
one inch nearer than it was your will he should come, I have
up to the present in no way interfered with your favorite sport.
But the time has come to change all that. Sir Arthur Tregen-
na is coming, and I v/arn you your customary amusement won't
do here. You have had your day — you may safely withdraw
from the fray where you have been conqueress so long, and rest
on your laurels."

She rose up, and stood stately, and beautiful, and haughty
before him.

" Papa,' you speak as if Sir Arthur Tregenna had power, had
authority over me. He has none — none. He has no claim —
no shadow of claim upon me."

"You mistake. Lady Cecil," the cool, keen, steel-gray eyes of
the earl met the indignant brown ones full — " or you forget Sir
Arthur Tregenna is your affianced husband."

" My affianced husband ! A man who has never spoken one
word to me in his life beyond the most ordinary civilities of
common acquaintance ! "

" And whose fault is that, Queenie ? Not his, poor fellov.^,
certainly. Carry your mind back three years — to your first
season— your presentation. He spent that season in London,
only waiting for one word, one look of encouragement from you
to speak. That word never came. Youflirted desperately with
young Lennox, of the Scotch Grays, and when he proposed,
threw him over. He exchanged into an Indian regiment, and
was shot through the heart by a Sepoy bullet, just one week after

2l6

LA REINE BLANCHE.

he became Lord Glenallan. Not a pleasant recollection for
yoii^ I should think, Lady Cecil ; but as I said before, I don't
wish to reproach you. You are to marry Sir Arthur — that is as
fixed as fate."

And looJcing in his face, she knew it. She sank back in her
seat, and hid her face in her hands with a sob, more like a child
than the bright, invincible La Reine Blanche.

Papa, you are unkind — you are cruel. I don't care for Sir
Arthur; he doesn't care for me."

" Who is to tell us that ? He will differ greatly from most of
his kind if he find the lesson a hard one to learn. And you
don't care for him? My Lady Cecil do you ever — have you
ever realized what you are — an earl's daughter and a — beggar?"

She did not lift her face. He looked at her grimly, and went
on :

" A beggar — literally that — without a farthing of allowance —
without a roof you can call your own — without a penny of por-
tion. Do you know. Lady Cecil, that I lost two thousand on
this year's Derby — my alU Learn it now at least. We sit
here this June morning, Queenie, paupers — with title and
name, and the best blood of the realm — paupers ! Sir Peter
Dangerfield, the most pitiful little miser on earth, pays for the
bread you eat, for the roof that shelters you, for the carriage you
drive in, the opera box you sit in, the servants who wait upon
you. He pays for them because the Salic law has exploded in
England, and he is under petticoat government. He is afraid
of his wife, and his wife is your cousin. That pink^ silk and
point-lace trimming you wear is excessively becoming, my dear,
imported from Worth, was it not? Take care of it, Queenie;
there isn't a farthing in the Ruysland exchequer to buy another
when that is worn. And I am — unkind, cruel. My dear, 1
shall never force you to call me that again. Don't marry Sir
Arthur Tregenna. You play very nicely, sing very nicely, draw
very nicely, and waltz exquisitely — what is to hinder you turn-
ing these accomplishments to account ? Earl's daughters have
been governesses before now, and may again. I advise you,
though, to write out your advertisement and send it to the
Times at once, while I have still a half guinea left for its inser-
tion." He drew out his watch — a hunting watch, the case
sparkling with diamonds ; " I will not keep you up longer — it is
nearly five o'clock." ^

She rose to her feet and confronted him. The flush had all
faded out. She was whiter than the roses in her hair.

LA RETNE BLANCHE.

217

This is all true you have been telling me, papa ? We are
so poor, so dependent as this — hopelessly and irretrievably
ruined ? "

" Hopelessly and irretrievably ruined."

He spoke with perfect cahnness. Ruined beyond all hope —
ruin wrought by his own hand — and he faced her without falter
or blanch.

She stood a moment silent, her eyes fixed upon the letter —
pale, proud, and cold. Then she spoke :
" What is it you wish me to do ? "

" Sir Arthur Tregenna is worth thirty thousand a year. I
wish you to marry Sir Arthur."

" What am I to do ? " she repeated, still proudly, still coldly.
*' He has never spoken one word to me, never wTitten one word
that even a vainer woman than I am could construe into love-
making ; and as I am a pauper, and he worth thirty thousand a
year, it is not to be supposed he marries me from interested
motives. Does he say here," touching the letter, " that he
wishes me to become his wife ? "

" He does not. But he is a man of honor, and your name
has long been linked with his. To have her name linked with
that of any man compromises any woman, unless it end in
marriage. He knows this. He is the soul of honor ; he is
coming here with no other intention than that of asking you to
be his wife."

A flush of pain — of shame — of humiliation, passed over the
exquisite face of the earl's daughter.

" It is rather hard on Sir Arthur that he should be obliged to
marry me whether or no, and a little hard also on me. And
this marriage will save you from ruin — will it, papa ? "

" It will save me from ruin— from disgrace — from exile for
life. It will give me a house wherein to end my days ; it will
make those last days happy. I desire it more strongly than I
ever desired anything in my life. I do not deny, Cecil, that I
have been reckless and prodigal ; but all that is past and done
with. I don't want to see the daughter of whom I have been
so proud — the toast of the clubs, the belle of the ball-rooms,
the beauty of London — eating the bitter bread of dependence.
Cecil, it is of no use struggling against destiny, and your destiny
has written you down Tady Cecil Tregenna. When Sir Arthur
speaks, your answer will be Yes."

" It— will be Yes."

She said it with a sort of gasp ! No young queen upon her
10

2l8

LA REINE BLANCHE.

throne had ever been prouder or purer, for all her flirting, than
La Reine Blanche ; and what it cost her to make this conces-
sion, her own humbled soul alone knew.

" Thank you, Queenie ; " her father drew her to him, and
touched his lips to her cheek for perhaps the third time in their
existence. " You never disappointed me in your life ; I knew
you would not now. It is the dearest desire of my heart, child.
You will be the wealthiest and most brilliant woman in Eng-
land. You have made me happy. Once more, thanks very
much, and good-morning."

He threw open the door, bowed her out with most Chester-
fieldian politeness, and watched the tall, graceful figure, in its
rose silk, its rich laces, its perfumed flowers, its gleaming jew-
els, from sight. Then he smiled to himself :

" 'It's a very fine thing to be father-in-law
To a very magnificent three-tailed bashaw.*

"She has promised, and all is safe. I know her well — I
know him well. The thumbscrews of the holy office could not
make either break a pledge once given. Ah, my lady ! I
wonder if you would have promised, even with penury staring
you in the face, if you had seen, as I did, Redmond O'Donneil
looking at you at the opera ? "

Lady Cecil went slowly up to her rooms trailing her ball
draperies after her, a violet and gold boudoir, a sleeping-room
adjoining, all white and blue. And seated in the boudoir, still
wearing her amber silk, her Spanish laces, and opals, sat the
mistress of the mansion. Sir Peter Dangerfield's wife.

What an endless age you have been, Queenie," Lady Dan-
gerfield said, peevishly. "What on earth could Uncle Raoul
have to say to you at this blessed hour of morning ? "

Lady Cecil stood beside her, a touch of weariness on her
pale face.

" He told me Sir Arthur Tregenna was coming — would be
here next week."

"Ah ! " my lady said, looking at her quickly, " at last ! Tr
marry you, Queenie ? "

She stood silent — pained — shamed— humbled beyond ex-
pression.

"You don't speak, and you look vexed. Queenie," with
energy, "you don't mean to say — you never will be so silly — i
so stupidly silly — as to refuse him if he asks?" J

"Tj^ he asks Lady Cecil repeated, with inexpressible bit-1

LA REINE BLANCHE, 219

terness. Oh, Ginevra ! don't let us talk about it. I am to
be sold, it seems, if this rich Cornishman chooses to buy me.
What choice have I in the matter — what choice had you ? We
are like the liHes of the field, who toil not neither do they spin
— as fair, perhaps, and as useless. When our masters come for
us we go — until then we run the round of Vanity Fair and wait.
Ginevra, I wonder what it is like to be poor ? "

" It is like misery — it is like torture — it is like death ! "
Lady Dangerfield burst out passionately. " I was poor once,
wretchedly, miserably poor, and I tell you I would rather die
a thousand times than undergo penury again. You may
know how horrible poverty is, when it is more horrible than
marrying Peter Dangerfield. I abhor both, but I abhor pov-
erty most. No need to look at me like that, Queenie ; I mean
what I say. You never supposed I cared for that odious little
monster, did you ? "

" Ginevra," Lady Cecil said, falling back wearily into an easy
chair, " I begin to think they are right in those heathen coun-
tries— India — China — Japan — ^where is it — where they destroy
female children as soon as they are born ? It is miserable, it
is degrading, it is horrible — the lives we lead, the marriages we
make. I hate myself, scorn myself to-night."

Lady Dangerfield shrugged her shoulders.

"Strong language, my dear, and strong language is bad
' form ' always. Has La Reine Blanche found her Darnley at
last?"

" If Mary, Queen of Scots, lived in these days, she would
never have lost her great, brave heart to so poor a creature as
Henry Darnley. "No, Ginevra; no Darnley exists for me.
Men are all alike in eighteen hundred and sixty — all talk with
the same drawl, all stare out of the same club windows, all part
their hair down the middle, and do nothing. Are you going?"

"Time to go at five o'clock, is it not? I only stopped in
here to tell you we go down to Scarswood in three days. Send
for Desiree, Queenie, and go to bed. Even your complexion
will not stand forever such horribly late hours."

And then, yawning very much. Lady Dangerfield went away
to bed, and Lady Cecil was left alone.

It was late, certainly, but the Earl of Ruysland's daughter
did not take her cousin's advice and go to bed. On the con-
trary, she sat where she had left her for over an hour, never
once moving — lost in thought. Then she slowly arose, crossed
over to where a writing-case, all gold and ebony, stood upon an

220

LA REINE BLANCHE.

inlaid table, took a tiny golden key from her chatelaine and
unlocked it. It contained many drawers. One of these,
opening with a spring, she drew out, removed its contents, and
stood, with a smile half sad, half mocking on her lips, gazing
upon them. Relics evidently. A branch of clematis, dry and
colorless, but sweet still, a short curl of dark, crisp hair, a pen-
cil sketch of a frank, manly, boyish face, and a note — that was
all. The note was yellow with time, the ink faded, and this is
what it contained, in a big, bold hand :

"Dear Lady Cecil: — I rode to Ballynahaggart yestej-day, and got
the book and the music you wanted. I shall fetch them over when I come
at the usual hour to-day.

"Respectfully, R.»

She read it over, still with that half-smile on her lips.

" * When I come at the usual hour,' " she repeated, " and he
never came. It was the strangest thing — I wonder at it to this
day. It was so unlike papa to hurry off abruptly in that way
— never even want to say good-by. And I used to think — but
I was only sixteen and a little fool. One outlives all that when
they grow up. Still fools suffer, I suppose, as greatly as wiser
people. Some of the old pain comes back now as I look at
these things. How different he was — poor, impetuous boy —
from the men I meet now. When I read of Sir Launcelot and
Sir Galahad I think of him. And I am to marry Sir Arthur
Tregenna when it pleases Sir Arthur Tregenna to do me the
honor of taking me. I have kept my relics long enough — it is
time I threw them out of the window."

She made a step forward, as if to follow the word by the
deed ; then stopped, irresolute.

" As Sir Arthur has not asked me yet, what can it matter ?
As I have kept them so long, I will keep them until he does."

She replaced them, closed and locked the writing-case, and
rang for her maid. The French woman came, sleepy and blink-
ing, and Lady Cecil sat like a statue under her hands, being
disrobed and robed again for rest.

But she was in the breakfast parlor a good half hour before
either her father and cousin. She was looking over a book of
water-color sketches when Lady Dangerfield entered, looking
at one long, intently, wistfully — a sunrise on the sea. The
baronet's wife came softly up behind the earl's daughter, and
glanced over her shoulder.

" A pretiiy scene enough, Queenie, but nothing to make you

MISS HERNCASTLE.

221

wear that pensive face. Of what are you thinking so deeply,
as you sit there and gaze ? "

Lady Cecil lifted her dreamy eyes.

" Of Ireland. I have often seen the sun rise out of the sea
like this, on the Ulster coast. And I was thinking of the days,
Ginevra, that can never come again."

CHAPTER 11.

MISS HERNCASTLE.

INEVRA," Lord Ruysland said, in his blandest tone,
and all his tones were bland, " how soon do we go
down to Sussex ? I say we, of course ; for impover-
ished mendicants, like myself and Cecil, must throw
ourselves on the bounty of our more fortunate relatives, until
our empty coffers are replenished. How soon do we go — next
week ?"

" Next Monday," responded T^ady Dangerfield ; " in three
days. Sir Peter writes me, Scarswood has been rejuvenated,
re-hung, re-carpeted, re-furnished, and quite ready. We go on
Monday ; very many have gone already. Parliament closes so
dehghtfully early this year. I don't pretend to go into ecstasies
over the country, Hke Cecil here, for instance ; but really, Lon-
don is not habitable after the last week of June."'

Ah ! next Monday — so soon ? Then we shall not meet
Tregenna in town, as I had supposed ? Still — Ginevra I
write to Sir Arthur Tregenna to-day — you remember Tregenna,
of course. He is in Paris at present, and on his way to us ;
may I trespass so far upon your hospitality, my dear, as to in-
vite him to Scarswood ? "

They were still seated, a family party of three, around the
breakfast table. Lady Dangerfield glanced across at her
cousin. Lady Cecil sat listlessly back in her chair, offering
her little curly King Charles a chicken wing ; she held the tit-
bit temptingly over Bijou's wrinkled nose, now laughing, as he
leaped up angrily, while all his tiny silver bells rang, not once
lifting her eyes.

" Certainly, Uncle Raoul,' invite him by all means. Scars-

MISS HERNCASTLE,

wood is big enough to hold even the great Cornish baronet.
I remember Sir Arthur very well ; indeed, I was mortally
afraid of him in those frivolous, by-gone days, and thought him
a horrid prig ; but of course that was all my lack of judgment.
Present my compliments and remembrances, and say we shall
be delighted to see him at Sussex."

" Thanks, my dear ; I knew I might count upon you. Sir
Peter, now — "

Sir Peter will do precisely as I see fit," Sir Peter's wife
answered, decisively; "let Sir Peter keep to his beetles and
butterflies. Did you know his latest hobby was turning natur-
alist, and impaling horribly crawling things upon pins ? Let
him keep to the beetles, and leave the amenities of civiHzed
life to civilized beings. Queenie, do let Bijou alone \ his bells
and his barking agonize my poor nerves. Yi^NO. you no mes-
sage to send to Sir Arthur ? "

" I think not. Take your chicken. Bijou, and run away
with Tompkins, for your morning airing in the square. Half-
past twelve. Ginevra, do we dress for the flower show at
Cheswick, or the morning party at Kew?"

The morning party at Kew. I promised Lady Chantilly
not to fail her a week ago. But first, Cecil, the children's
governess comes to-day, and I want you to see her and help
me decide. I advertised, as you know, and out of the troops
of applicants, this one — what's her name, again ? — Miss Hern-
castle — seems to suit me best. And her terms are so moderate,
and she plays so very nicely, and her manner is so quiet, and
everything, that I as good as told her yesterday that I would
take her. She comes at two for her final answer, and I should
like you to tell me what you think of her."

" And I shall go and write my letter — your compliments and
kind remembrances, Ginevra, and a cordial invitation to Scars-
wood from Sir Peter and yourself And you tell me Sir Peter
has become a naturalist ? Ah ! poor, little Sir Peter ! "

And, with a smile on his lip and a sneer in his eye, the
Earl of Ruysland arose and wended his way to his study.

Poor, little Sir Peter, indeed !

Within nine months of his accession to the throne of Scars-
wood, Sir Peter Dangerfield, Baronet, had led to the " hyme-
neal altar," as iki^ Morning Post told you, Ginevra, only surviv-
ing daughter of the late Honorable Thomas Clive, and relict
of Cosmo Dalrymple, Esq. She was a niece of the Earl of
Ruysland, she was petite, plump, pretty, poor; she was nine-

3IISS HERNCASTLE.

223

and-twenty; she had twhi daughters, and not a farthing to
bless herself. At the mature age of twenty-four she had eloped
with a clerk in the Treasury, three years younger than herself,
a name as old as her own, a purse as empty, and they were
cast off at once and forever by their families on both sides.
Their united fortunes kept ^them in Paris until the honeymoon
ended, and then Poverty stalked grimly in at the door, and
Love flew out of the window in disgust, and never came back.
They starved and they grubbed in every Continental city and
cheap watering-place ; they bickered, they quarreled, they
reproached and recriminated ; and one dark and desperate
night, just five years after his love match, Cosmo Dalrymple,
Esquire, stirred half an ounce or so of laudanum into his ab-
sinthe, and wound up his chapter of the story.

Mrs. Dalrymple and the twins, two black-eyed dolls of four,
came back to England in weeds and woe, and the paternal
roof opened once more to receive her. Very subdued, soft of
voice, gentle of manner, and monstrously pretty in her widow's
cap and crapes, little Mrs. Dalrymple chanced one day, at a
water party in the neighborhood, to meet the Sussex baronet,
Sir Peter Dangerfield. Is there a destiny in those things that
shape our ends without volition of our own ? — or is it that we
all must play the fool once at least in our lives ? Sir Peter saw
— and fell in love. Before Mrs. Dalrymple had been twelve
months a widow, she was again a wife.

Five years of married life, and living by her wits, had sharp-
ened those wits to an uncommon degree. She read the bar-
onet like a book. He was a miser to the core, mean beyond
all ordinary meanness, half monkey, half tiger in his nature ;
and her plumpness, and her prettiness, her round, black eyes,
her faltering voice, and timid manner did their work. He fell
in love, and before the first fever of that hot fancy had time to
cool, had made her Lady Dangerfield, and himself miserable
for life.

She was nothing that he thought her, and everything that
he thought her not. She was a vixen, a Kate whom no earthly
Petruchio could tame. She despised him, she laughed at him ;
she was master and mistress both ; she flirted, she squandered
his money Hke water — what did she nof do? And the twins,
kept in the background in the halcyon days of courtship, were
all at once brought forward, the black frocks flung aside, gay
tartans, muslins, and silks bought, and a governess engaged.
Scarswood was thrown open to the county, a house in May-

224

MISS HERNCASTLE,

fair leased, parties, dinners, concerts, operas — the whole round
of fashionable hfe ran. And her poor relatives fixed upon him
like barnacles on a boat. The Earl of Ruysland made his
iiouses, his horses, his servants, his cook, his banker his own,
without a thought of gratitude, a word of thanks. His wife
sneered at him, her high-titled relatives ignored him, men black-
balled him at their clubs, and the milk of human kindness
turned to buttermilk in his breast. He became a misan-
thrope, and buried himself do^yn at Scarswood, did humbly as
his lady ordered him, and took, as you have heard her say, to
impaling butterflies on pins. If our fellow creatures are to
torture us, it is some compensation to torture, in our turn, bugs
and beetles, if nothing better offers.

Lady Cecil came sweeping downstairs presently — tall, and
slim, and white as a lily. Her India muslin, with its soft
lace trimmings, trailed in fleecy clouds behind her — all her
lovely hazel hair hung half-curled in a rich bronze mass over
the pearly shoulders. A Mechlin scarf hung about her more
like drapery than a shawl ; and a bonnet, a marvel of Parisian
handicraft, half point-lace, half lilies of the valley, crowned that
exquisite, gold-hued head.

The drawing-room was deserted — Lady Dangerfield was not
yet down. Lady Cecil was two-and-twenty, Lady Dangerfield
five-and-thirty, and for every ten minutes we spend before the
glass at twenty, we spend an hour on the wrong side of thirty.
She took a book and sank down among the amber satin cush-
ions of a dormeuse near the open window, and began to read.
So she had sat, a charming vision, for upward of half an hour,
when her cousin, in pale flowing silks, youthful and elegant,
floated in.

" Have I kept you waiting, Queenie ? But that tiresome
Delphine has no more eye for color or efl"ect than — "

"Miss Herncastle, my lady," Soames, the footman, inter-
rupted.

And my lady stopped short and whirled around.

" Ah, yes — I had forgotten. Will you take a seat for a mo-
ment. Miss Herncastle ? I was really in such a -hurry yester-
day, when I saw you, that I had no time to speak of anything
but terms. We are over-due as it is, but — I think you told me
you never were governess before ? "

" I never was, my lady."

Only five short words, but Lady Cecil laid down her book
and looked up surprised into sudden interest. It was such a

MISS HERNCASTLE.

225

sweet voice — so deep, so clear, so musical in its timbre. She
looked up and saw a tall, a very tall young woman, dressed in
plain dark colors, sink into the seat Lady DangerfieJd had in-
dicated by a wave of her pearl-gloved hand.

" Then may I beg to know what you did do ? You are not,
excuse me, very young — seven-and-twenty now, I should
think?"

" No, my lady ; three-and-twenty."

"Ah! three-and-twenty, and going out as governess for the
first time. Pray what were you before ? "

Lady Cecil shrank a little as she hstened. Ginevra v/ent to
work for the prosecution in so deliberate, so cold-blooded a
manner. She looked at the governess and thought, more and
more interested, what a singular face it was. Handsome it was
not — never had been — but some indescribable fascination held
Lady Cecil's gaze fast. The eyes were dark, cold, brilliant ;
the eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair of jetty blackness ; the face
like marble — literally like marble — as changeless, as colorless,
locked in as passionless calm.

" A strange face — an interesting face," Lady Cecil thought ;
" the face, if I am any judge, of a woman who has suffered
greatly, and learned to endure. A face that hides a history."

" I was a music teacher," the low, melodious, even tones of
Miss Herncastle made answer ; " I gave lessons when I could
get pupils. But pupils in London are difficult to get. I saw
your advertisement in the Times, for a nursery governess, and
I applied."

"And you are willing to accept the terms I offered yester-
day ? "

The terms were so small that Lady Dangerfield was abso-
lutely ashamed to name them before her cousin. At heart, and
where her .own gratification was not concerned, she was as great
a miser as Sir Peter himself.

" I will accept your terms, my lady. Salary is not so much
an object with me as a home."

" Indeed ! You have none of your own, I presume? "

" I have none, my lady."

She made the answer quite calmly, neither voice nor face
altering.

" You are an orphan ? "
" I am an orphan."

"Well," Lady Dangerfield said, "your recommendations are
certainly unobjectionable, and I don't see why you would not
10*

226

MISS HERNCASTLE.

suit. Just open the piano, Miss Herncastle, and play some lit-
tle thing that I may judge of your touch and execution. If
there be one thing I wish you particularly to attend to, it is my
children's music and accent. You speak French?"

Yes, my lady."

And sing?"

There was an instant's hesitation — then the reply came :

" No, madame, I do not sing."

" That is unfortunate. Play, however."

She obeyed at once. She played from memory, and chose
an air of Schubert's — a little thing, but sweet, and pathetic, as
it is the nature of Schubert's music to be. It was a favorite of
Lady Cecil's as it chanced, but never had the pearl keys, un-
der her fingers, spoke in music a story half so plaintive, half so
pathetic as this. The slanting June sunlight fell full upon the
face of the player — that fixed, dusk, emotionless face, with its
changeless pallor ; and, more and more interested, Lady Cecil
half rose on her elbow to look.

"That will do," Ginevra said graciously; "that's a simple
melody, but you play it quite prettily. Cecil, love, what do you
think ? Miss Herncastle will suit very well, will she not ? "

" I think Miss Herncastle quite capable of teaching music
to pupils double the age of Pearl and Pansy," replied Lady
Cecil, decidedly. " Miss Herncastle, is it possible you do not
sing ? You have the face of a singer."

Up to this moment Miss Herncastle had not been aware a
third person was present. She turned to Lady Cecil, and the
large electric eyes, so dark under their black lashes, met the
soft hazel ones full.

" I do not sing."

*' Then I have mistaken a singing face for the first time.
Ginevra, I don't wish to hurry you, but if we go at all — "

" Good Heavens ! yes ! " cried Lady Dangerfield, glancing in
sudden hurry at her watch. " We shall be frightfully late, and
I promised Lady Chantilly — Miss Herncastle, I forgot to ask
— do you object to the country ? "

" On the contrary, I prefer it."

" Very well, then ; the sooner you come the better. We go
down to our place in Sussex next week — you will find your
pupils there. Suppose you come to-night — you will be of use
to me in the intermediate days."

" I will come to-night, my lady, if you wish it."

MISS HERNCASTLE,

227

To-night, then. Soames, show Miss Herncastle out. Now
then, Queenie."

And what's your opinion of the governess ? What are you
thinking of as you lie back in that pretty attitude, Vv^th your
eyes half closed. Lady Cecil Clive ? Are you really thinking ?
or is it only to show the length of your eyelashes ? "

Lady Cecil looked up. They were rolling along as fast as
two high-stepping roans could carry them, Kew-ward.

*'I was really thinking, Ginevra — thinking of your gover-
ness."

" You do ray governess too much honor. What were your
thoughts of her, pray?"

" There is something strange about her — something quite
out of the usual governess, line. It is an odd face — a striking
face — a face full of character. It has haunted me ever since I
saw it — so calm, so still, so fixed in one expression. That
woman has a history."

" Really, then, I shall countermand my consent. I don't
want a nursery governess with a history. What an imagination
you have, Cecil, and what awful nonsense you talk ! A strik-
ing face ! — yes, if you like, in its plainness."

" I don't think it plain."

" Perhaps you do think it pretty ? "

" No ; pretty is a word I should never apply to Miss Hern-
castle. Herncastle ! — a sounding appellation. Whom have I
seen before that she resembles ? "

" For pity's sake, Queenie, talk of something else. Suppose,
when you get down to Scarswood, you turn biographer, and
write out my new nursery governess's history, from her own
dictation. I dare • say she's the daughter of some Cheapside
grocer, with a complexion like her father's tallow candles, and
whose piano-playing and French accent were acquired within
the sound of Bow Bells. Queenie — " abruptly — -."I wonder if
Major Frankland will be at Kew to-day ? "

Lady Cecil looked grave.

''I don't hke him, Ginevra — I don't like the way he behaves
with you — oh, yes, Ginevra, I will say it — nor the way you be-
have with him."

" And why ? How does Major Frankland and my lowly self
behave ? "

" You hardly need to ask that question, I think. You flirted
with him when you were fifteen, by your own showing ; you

228

MISS HERNCASTLE.

flirted with him in the first year of your widowhood, and you
flirt most openly with him now that you are a wife. Ginevra,"
with energy, "a married flirt is in my opmion the most despic-
able character on earth."

"An opinion which, coming from my Lady Cecil Clive, of
all people, should have weight. Isn't there an adage about set-
ting a thief to catch a thief? How true those old saws are !
You don't mean to flirt, I suppose, when you are married ?"

" Don't look so scornful, Ginevra — no — I don't. If ever I
marry — what are you laughing at ? Well, when I do marry, then
— I hope — I trust — I feel that I shall respect and — and love my
husband, and treasure his name and honor as sacredly as my
own soul."

"Meaning, I suppose, Sir Arthur Tregenna?"

" Meaning Sir Arthur Tregenna, if you like. If I ever be-
come the wife of Sir Arthur, I shall never let any living man
talk to me, look at me, act to me, as that odious, bearded,
slee})y-eyed ex-Canadian major does toward you. Don't be
angry, Ginevra dear ; I mean this for your good."

" No doubt. One's friends are always personal and disagree-
able and prosy for one's good. At the same time I am quite
old enough to take care of myself."

"Ah, Ginevra, age does not always bring wisdom. And Sir
Peter is jealous — poor little Sir Peter ! It is unkind, it is a
shame ; you bury that poor little man alive down there, and
you dance, and walk, and flirt with Frankland. I say again, it
is a shame."

Lady Dangerfield leaned back in the barouche and laughed
— laughed absolutely until the tears started.

" You precious Queenie— you Diogenes in India muslin and
Limerick lace ! That poor little Sir Peter, indeed ! and Miss
Herncastle, too ! all low and abject things find favor in the sight
of Lady Cecil Clive. Sir Peter ! as if I cared what that odious
little wizen-faced, butterfly-hunting imbecile thought ! Major
Frankland is one of my oldest, one of my dearest friends, vvath
whom I shall be friendly just as long as I please, in spite of all
the husbands alive. And to think of a sermon from you — from
you, the most notorious flirt in London— on flirting ! And Solo-
mon says there is nothing new under the sun ! "

Lady Cecil made a restless movement, and under the white
fringe of her parasol her fair face flushed.

" Ginevra, I am sick — sick of having myself called that.
And I am not a flirt, in your sense of the word. I don't lead

M/SS HERNCASTLE.

229

on men to gratify my own petty vanity, to swell the list of a vain,
empty-headed, empty-hearted woman of the world's triumphs.
I only like to have people Hke me — admire me, if you will ;
and when gentlemen are pleasant and dance well, and talk
well, I can't be frigid and formal, and talk to them on stilts.
It's they who are stupid — moths who will rush into the candle
and singe their wings, do what you will. The warning is up,
' dangerous ground,' but they won't be warned. They think
the quicksand that has let so many through will hold them.
They are not content with being one's friend — they must be
one's lover. And then when one is sorry, and says ' no,' they
rush off to Spitzbergen, or Spanish America, or Central Africa,
and one is called heartless, and a coquette. It's my misfort-
une, Ginevra, not my fault."
Again Ginevra laughed.

"My dear, what eloquence ! Why Vv^eren't you lord, instead
of Lady Cecil Clive ? — you might take your seat in the House,
and amaze that noble and prosy body by your brilliant oratory.
Queenie, answer me this — truly now — were you ever in love in
your life ? "

Under the white fringe of that silken screen, her parasol,
once more that delicate carnation flushed all the fair "flower-
face " of La Reine Blanche. But she laughed.

"That is what lawyers call a leading question, isn't it, Gin-
evra ? Who falls in love in these latter days ? We talk of
settlements, instead of turning periods to our lover's eyes ; we
go to St. George's, Hanover Square, if an eligible parti asks us
to accompany him there ; but as for getting up a grande pas-
sion— not to be thought of — bad style and obsolete. Somebody
says in Coningsby, * passions were not made for the dr^iwing-
room,' and I agree with that somebody. I don't mean to be
cynical, Ginevra — I only state plain facts, and pity 'tis 'tis
true."

Lady Chantilly's morning party was doubly pleasant for
being about the last of the season, and Major PVankland was
there. He was a tall, military sv/ell, with heavy blonde mus-
tache, sleepy, cat-like eyes, a drawl, and an eye-glass. It seemed
the most natural thing imaginable that Lady Dangerfield should
receive her Neapolitan ice from his hand, and that he should
lean over her chair and whisper in her pretty pink ear while she
ate it.

"We always return to our first loves, don't we, Lady Cecil ? "
laughed the Honorable Charles Delamer, of the F. O., eating

230

3IISS IIERNCASTLE.

his ice, and taking his seat by the side of I^ord Ruysland's
daughter, "as faithful as the needle to the north star is old
Frankland to the idol of his youth. Apropos of first loves,
Lady Cecil," looking up artlessly, "whom do you suppose I
met at her Majesty's last night ? "

The Honorable Charles, one of the "fastest," most reckless
young fellows about town, had two blue eyes as soft and inno-
cent as the eyes of a month-old babe, though how Mr. Dela-
mer preserved even the outward semblance of innocence at
eight-and-twenty it would be difficult to say.

Lady Cecil laughed. She liked CharHe for this good reason,
that he had never fallen in love with her.

" Not being a clairvoyant I cannot say. You must have met
a great many people I should think. I know you never came
near our box."

" No," Mr. Delamer said, "I did not visit your box. He
wouldn't come."

" Who wouldn't come ? Name this contumacious subject ? "
" O'Donnell."

" Who ? " suddenly and sharply she asked the question.
"Who?" V

" O'Donnell— Captain Redmond O'Donnell, of the Third
Chasseurs d'Afrique — Le Beau Chasseur ^ as they call him —
and the best fellow the sun shines on."

She was always pale as a lily — La Reine Blanche — was she
really paler than usual now? Charlie Delamer wondered.
Was it only the shadow of the white parasol, or —

There was a pause — only for a moment, but how long it
seemed. Coote and Tinney's band discoursed sweet music,
fountains flashed, birds sang, flowers bloomed, June sunshine
steeped all in gold, and under the leafy branches Lady Dan-
gerfield was strolling on the arm of Major Frankland.

Mr. Delamer, just a thought startled, spoke again.

" You know O'Donnell, don't you ? In Ireland, was it ? I
think he said so last night."

" Yes — I know — I mean I knew Captain O'Donnell slightly
once. It is over six years ago though — I should have thought
he would have quite forgotten the circumstance by this time."

"Men who have been so fortunate as to know La Reine
Blanche don't forget her so easily. Since you honor him by
your remembrance, it is hardly strange if he recollects jj^^z/."

"If I remember him! — Mr. Delamer, Redmond O'Donnell
saved my life ! "

MISS HERNCASTLE.

231

Saved your life ! By Jove ! the lucky fellow. But those
dashing, long-sword, saddle-bridle Irishmen are always lucky.
And the fellow said his acquaintance was but trifling."

Lady Cecil laughed — not quite so musically as usual.

"Trifling!" Perhaps Captain O'Donnell rated his service
at the valuation of the thing saved ! And he is in England.
How curious. I fancied liiiii — soldier of fortune — free lance
that he is ! for life out there in Algiers."

" He goes back shortly. He is a born fighter, and comes of
a soldierly race. The O'Donnells have been soldiers of fortune
for the last three hundred years, and asked no fairer fate. He
leaves England soon, places his sister with some friends in
France, and goes back."

" His sister ! — the Rose, of whom he used to speak — of
whom he was so fond ? "

" Yes ; I heard him call her Rose."

" You heard him ! She is here then ! And what is she like ?
Redmond O'Donnell's sister" — with a little laugh — " ought to
be pretty."

"Well, she is not — at least not now. She appears to be
under a cloud — sickness, trouble, something — didn't* talk much
— looks sad and somber, and is a brunette, with blue eyes.
She is just from New Orleans — her brother went for her. I
called there immediately before I came here, and O'Donnell
dines with me this evening. What a prince of good fellows he
was out yonder in Algiers, and the devil's own to fight. He
won his way straight up from the ranks witli his sword. And
he saved your life ! How was it. Lady Cecil ?"

" Much too long a story for a morning party, with the ther-
mometer at 90 degrees. There is Madame de Villafleur beck-
oning— is she not ? "

" She is. Permit me. Lady Cecil." And taking Mr. Dela-
mer's proffered arm. Lady Cecil sauntered over to Madame
la Comtesse de Villafleur.

The rose light of the summer sunset was just merging into
starry dusk, as the baronet's wife and earl's daughter drove back
to Lowndes Square. Lady Dangerfield was in excellent spirits —
evidently Major Frankland had been entertaining — and talked
incessantly the way home ; but Lady Cecil lay back among the
barouche cushions, paler, graver, more silent than was her
wont. She had been very much admired, as usual ; she had
held her court of adorers, also, as usual ; but now that it was
over, she looked wan, spiritless, and bored.

232

MISS HERNCASTLE.

And he is in England — in London ! " she was thinking.
" He was at the opera last night, and saw me ! And it was
not worth while renewing so slight an acquaintance ! To
think — to think " — she set her pearly teeth hard — " to think
that after all those years I should not yet have outlived that
sentimental folly of so long ago ! "

How stupid you are, Queeine ! " her cousin said, pettishly,
as they neared home. " I believe you have not spoken tv/o
words, since we left Kew ; and now that I have asked you
twice if you saw Chandos Howard playing lawn bilhards with
Lady Charlotte Lansing, you only answer, 'Yes dear, very
pretty indeed ! ' It is to be hoped you will recover the use of
your tongue and your senses before you appear at Carlton
Terrace to-night."

With which reproach Lady Dangerfield got out and went up
the steps of her own aristocratic mansion.

Soames, the footman, flung open the drawing-room door, but
Lady Cecil did not enter. She toiled wearily up to her own
apartment, threw off her bonnet and scarf, as if even their
weight oppressed her, and crossing to the gold-and-ebony writ-
ing desk, unlocked it, and took out her treasured relics once
more.

" I do not need yoii to remind me of my folly any longer,"
she said, looking at them. " I will do now what I should have
done this morning."

The faintly sighing evening wind fluttered the lace curtains
of the open window. She walked to it, gazed for a moment at
the pictured face, set her lips, and deliberately tore up into
minutest fragments the note and the picture. The summer
breeze whirled them off in an instant, the spray of clematis,
and the dark curl of hair followed, and then Lady Cecil rang
for her maid, and dressed for the evening.

"They say — those wiseacres who make books — that every
life has its romance. I suppose they are right, and so forever
has ended mine. Not the white satin to-night, Desir^e — the
blue silk and turquoise ornaments, I think ! "

At half-past eleven that night — and when had the phenome-
non occurred before ? — the Earl of Ruysland returned to his
niece's house. He had written and dispatched his letter, and
though Lady Cecil had sent no message to Sir Arthur Tre-
genna, the letter contained a most encouraging and flattering
one. He had dined at his club, he had indulged in chicken
hazard for an hour, and at half-past eleven stood in the moon-

MISS HERNCASTLE,

233

light at Lady Dangerfield's door. He had been up, as you
know, until half-past five the preceding da}^, and on the win-
try side of fifty late hours and dissipation tell

"I think I will give up London life," he said to himself ;
" and devote myself to growing old gracefully. Let me ac-
complish this marriage, pay my debts, and with replenished
coffers, and a rejuvenated reputation, betake myself to pleasant
Continental Spas and Badens, and live happy forever after.
Ah, Soames ! my lady and Lady Cecil departed yet for the
ball ? "

" Not yet, me lord — dressing, me lord — carriage has just
been ordered round, me lord."

Lord Ruysland ascended to the silent magnificence of the
long drawing rooms. There were three, opening one into the
other, in a brilliant vista of velvet carpet, lace draperies, or-
molu, and satin upholstery. They were deserted now, and the
gas unlit. The range of wmdows, seven in number, stood wide
open, and' the silvery light of the resplendent June moon
poured in.

" Silence and soUtude," muttered the earl ; "why the deuce
are they all in the dark ? Aw ! very pretty, indeed, brilliant
moon, and a cloudless sky — one might fancy it Venice instead
of smoky, foggy, dingy I^ondon."

He paused. The rooms were not deserted, it would seem,
after all. Out of the lace and amber curtains of the seventh
and farthest window, a figure emerged and approached him.
The earl's eyes turned from that crystal moon, and fixed expect-
antly on the advancing figure — the figure of a woman. Who
was it ? Not a servant, surely, with that slow and stately tread,
that assured air. Not little Lady Dangerfield — this figure was
tall ; not Lady Cecil either — even she must have stood a full
head shorter than this woman. Who was it ?

The long drawing-room lay in alternate strips of darkness
and light. The shadows hid her for a moment, she emerged
into the moonrays again, and again disappeared. Who was she
— this tall, magnificently proportioned woman, in dark sweep-
ing drapery, with that majestic stateliness of mien and walk ?

She had not seen him. For the fourth time she came into
the light, then the darkness took her — a fifth time she appeared,
a sixth, and then she beheld the earl standing curious, expect-
ant, watching.

She stopped short — the moonlight fell full npon her fiice — |)ale
and calm. And the Earl of Ruysland, who for the last thirty

234

AIISS HERNCASTLE.

years had outlived every phase of human emotion, uttered
a low, worldless cry, and fell slowly back. The sound of
that startled cry, low as it was, reached her ear. The woman
in the moonlight came a step nearer and spoke :

" I beg your pardon. I should not have intruded, but I
thought these rooms were quite deserted."

What a sweet voice it was ! Its tones lingered pleasantly
on the ear, like the low notes of a flute.

Her words broke the spell that held the earl. His eyes had
been fixed with a sort of fascination on her face — a look of
starded wonder on his own. And Raoul, Earl of Ruysland,
was not easily startled. He drew a long breath and stood
aside to let her pass.

" It is I who should apologize," he said, with the courtly defer-
ence to all women that long habit had made second nature,
" for startling you in so absurd a manner. I labored under the
same delusion as yourself I fancied these rooms forsaken.
Soames ! lights immediately ! "

The tall footman set the chandeliers ablaze, and closed the
curtains. But the dark-draped lady had vanished.

" Who was that ? " the earl asked carelessly ; " a visitor ! "
The gov'ness, me lord. Me lady's new nuss'ry gov'ness.
Came two hours ago, me lord, which her name it's Miss 'Ern-
castle."

"Is the carriage waiting, Soames?" inquired my lady, sail-
ing in a sea of green silk and tulle illusion, illuminated with
emeralds. "You, Uncle Raoul_; and at half-past seven!
What miracle will happen next? You don't mean to say you
are coming with Cecil and me to the Duchess of Stratheam's
soiree music ale ? "

" I don't, indeed. Nothing is further from my thoughts than
soirees musicales. Ginevra, who is that new governess of yours ?
She is your governess, Soames tells me."

" What ! Miss Herncastle ! where did you see her?"

"I saw her just now, as I came in. She's a very distin-
guished-looking person, isn't she? Nursery governesses don't
usually look like tragedy queens, do they ? She has a very
remarkable face."

" Has she ? You are as enthusiastic as Queenie. She saw
her at noon, and raved about her for half an hour. I must be
very blind or stupid — I confess I can only see a preposterously
tall young woman, with a pale, solemn face."

" Enthusiastic, am I ? " Lord Ruysland repeated. " I wasn't

SIR ARTHUR TREGENNA. 235

aware that I was ; but I once knew another face very like it —
wonderfully like it. And I give you my word of honor that as
I came upon Miss — ah, to be sure — Herncastle, standing there
in the moonlight, I thought I saw a ghost."

CHAPTER HI.

• SIR ARTHUR TREGENNA.

AR away, along the north coast of Cornwall, not far
from " the thundering shores of Bude and Boss," there
stands a huge pile of masonry, looking old enough and
hoary enough to have been built by the hands of the
Druids, and called Tregenna Towers. Its lofty battlemented
circular towers pierced the blue air at a dizzy height — its beacon
a land-mark fifteen miles up and down the coast. .From its
sea wall you look sheer down three hundred feet of black and
slaty cliffs into the white surging sea below. And to the right,
three miles off, lying in a warm, green hollow, is Tregenna vil-
lage, with its ivied church and vicarage, its clusters of stone cot-
tages, with roses, myrtle, and fuchsias blooming out-of-doors the
year round. Gray, lonely, weather-beaten Tregenna Towers
stands, with the steady sea gale howling around it, miles of
foam-white sea, and a low, dusk, fast-drifting sky over all.
Right and left as far as you can see, and farther, spread moors,
and mines, and fisheries, all claiming for their lord Sir Arthur
Tregenna, twelfth baronet of his line, and one of the very
wealthiest in the United Kingdom. You may wander on for
miles over those purple ridgy moors. You may ask the brown
fishermen or the black miners wherever you meet them, and
the answer will still be the same — Sir Arthur Tregenna is lord
of all.

Only once in seven long years has the master's footstep
rung through the gray, lonesome rooms of Tregenna. He is a
wanderer over the earth from the North Sea to Oceanica.
Since his father's death, ten years before, when he was thiee-
and-twenty, Tregenna has seen but little of him — England,
either, for that matter. And still with loving fidehty the eld
servants, the old tenants and retainers look forward to the day

236

SIR ARTHUR TREGENNA.

when Sir Arthur will bring a bride to old Tregenna, and renew
its ancient splendors. P'or they love him very dearly. The
gentlest of masters, the most Christian of gentlemen, the kind-
est of landlords — that is what they will tell you of him. He
might have been one of good King Arthur's knights, so stainless
a record, so high a code of honor, so unblemished a life lay
behind him. He had loved his father with a rare and great
love, and upon that ftither's death had gone abroad, and been
an exile and a wanderer since.

On the second day of July, among the passengers who ar-
rived at the London bridge terminus, straight from Tasmania,
was Arthur Tregenna. His luggage was scant, there was noth-
ing about him to betoken the owner of fabulous wealth, and he
drove at once to a certain old-fashioned West End hotel, that
his family had used for generations. He dined, dressed, and
drove to Lowndes Square. But the shutters of that aristocratic
mansion were closed, the furniture gone into Holland shrouds,
and an old woman in pattens, who opened the door, informed
him that the family had left only that very morning, for Sussex.

" Then there is nothing for it but to follow," Sir Arthur
thought. " It is due to her — to my promise. I shall go down
to-morrow."

He went back to his hotel in the silvery summer dusk. Lon-
don seemed new to him after years of wandering through Can-
adian wildernesses, Mexican tropics, Indian jungles and Amer-
ican prairies ; its roaring, surging, ceaseless Babel stunned him.
He sat in an arm-chair near the open window, the last pink flush
of the dying day upon him, and a thoughtful gravity habitual to
it lying upon his face.

He was a very tall, very fair man, this Cornish baronet, with
deep set gray eyes, close-cropped blonde hair, blonde whiskers,
and — not handsome. The face of a sunburnt student, perhaps,
never that of a handsome man — a face that could set itself stern
as death, a face -at once proud and grave, but a face that men
might trust and woman love, for all that. A face that lit into
wonderful warmth and geniality when he smiled, but Sir Arthur
Tregenna did not smile often.

The thoughtful gravity of his face was a shade graver even
than usual this soft summer evening as he sat here alone. His
eyes looked wearily over the surging sea of strange faces, with
something of a tired, lonely light.

" Nine-and-twenty," he was thinking, and I feel as alone in
England this tirst day of my return as though I had never set

SIR ARTHUR TREGJENNA.

foot in it before. It is time I gave up this Bedouin sort of life,
this wandering, gipsyish, vagabond kind of existence and ranger^
as our hvely French neighbors phrase it, and settle down to
civilized life. And yet — I don't know — the normal life suits
me after all, and I may be glad to return to it. If I find her
as I half expect to find her, I most assuredly shall. A London
coquette is no wife for a plain, practical man like me. And I
want a wife, not a butterfly.

" 'Who would live with a doll, though its hair should be dressed
And its petticoats trimmed in the fashion ? '

"A London belle of three years' standing and a flirt — no such
woman as that is hardly likely to be a wife of mine or mistress
of Tregenna. But it was my father's wish that at least I should
marry no one before seehig her, and every wish of his is sacred.
It is surprising, though, that she remains single still — with all
that beauty and grace and fatal witchery they say she possesses.
Many men have offered, but she has refused all — men with
rank and power and wealth."

For Sir Arthur had returned home on most matrimonial
thoughts intent. His late father and the present Earl of Ruys-
land, dissimilar in many things, were yet close friends and
comrades. The plain Cornish baronet had been dazzled by the
more brilliant peer, and when that peer fell into poverty, his
purse and sympathy were ever at his service. And one having
an only son, the other an only daughter, what more natural
than that they should sink their bond of friendship in the closer
bond of relationship.

Old Sir John had loved and admired little Lady Cecil, next
to his boy, above all earthly things. Her fair face and golden
ringlets, and brown, luminous eyes made sunshine often in the
dim, dusky-storied old rooms of Tregenna, her clear girl's tones,
the sweetest music. She had not met young Arthur on these
visits, he had been up at Oxford. Casuall}^, however, once or
twice they had come together. But somehow the friendsliip of
the fathers was not reproduced in the children. Little Lady
Cecil in her white frocks and blue sashes, her flowing curls, and
dancing eyes, was but a frivolous, tiresome child in the pedantic
gaze of the tall, Greek-speaking, Latin-loving under-grad ; while
this uplifted, severe, silent young Oxonian was an object of awe
and terror to the earl's daughter. But Sir John died, and on his
death-bed he had asked his son, stricken with grief, to make, if

238

SIR ARTHUR TREGENNA.

he could win her consent, Lady Cecil Clive the future mistress
of Tregenna.

"You will love her," the old man had said ; "who could help
it ? She is as beautiful as the day, and as good as she is beau-
tiful. No one lives whom I would as soon see your wife as my
old friend's child."

Arthur had given his promise, and when did a Tregenna ever
break his word to a friend or foe ? He went abroad then, and
for three years remained abroad. Lady Cecil was in her nine-
teenth year upon his return, and it was her first season, death in
the family having kept her back. They met in that gay, graci-
ous, brilliant, Mayfair world, and he began to realize that Lady
Cecil Clive was by no means the woman of women he wished
to take to wife.

She was lovely— no doubt of that — sweet, gentle, pure, and
proud. But she loved admiration — many men sought her,
pressed forward eagerly in the chase, and Sir Arthur Tregenna
stood in the background and saw her smile upon them all ; very
few of those smiles were for him. She had heard nothing of
that death-bed compact, and her father chanced to be absent
from England that first season. Before it had ended Sir Arthur
had manned his yacht, and set out for the Mediterranean.

And now after three years he was back, and on the same
errand. One last effort he would make to obey his father ; if
he found her the sort of woman he half suspected, then she
should never be wife of his.

Two men were talking near him as he sat lost in thought.
Their conversation fell on his ear — they did not seem to heed
him — and lost in his own reverie he did not comprehend a
word.

" Left this morning, did you say, Wyatt ? " one of them was
saying. " Somewhere down in Sussex, is it ? Then I shall not
go to the Clarges Street reception to-night. London is a howl-
ing wilderness without her. The sun shines on nothing half so
lovely as La Reine BlajicheT

" So poor Buccleth used to say until she refused, and sent
him headlong to perdition. It's a curious fact in natural ])hi-
losophy that all the men who lose their heads for the White
Queen go straight to the bad after it. Poor she is as a church
mouse, and yet I believe she has rejected more proposals this
season than the Duke of Belviour's daughter herself, with her
beauty, her blood, and her sjDlendid dot. What do you suppose
she is waiting for — a ducal coronet ? "

SIR ARTHUR TREGENNA.

239

''Old Riiys is an inscrutable card, and there's some one in
the background, depend upon it. Wasn't there a whisper at
Pratt's of an enormously rich Cornishman for whom the old bird
is reserving her. She is charming — La Heine Blanche — and
nothing under thirty thousand a year stands any chance there.

" ' Praise as we may when the tale is done.
She is but a maid to be wooed and won.' "

" I envy the Cornishman, whoever he is."

"His name is Tregenna — Sir Arthur Tregenna — worth no
end in tin mines and fisheries and that, but a deuce of a prig,
so I am told."

The next instant the two young dandies were startled by the
tall, sunburned, silent gentleman in the arm-chair rising up and
facing them.

" I beg your pardon," he said in haughty surprise ; " I am
that deuce of a prig — Sir Arthur Tregenna. Had I known I was
the subject of your conversation I would have interrupted you
sooner. And you scarcely honor the name of the lady you
praise by making it the public property of a coffee-room."

With which, and a frown of haughty anger, the tall, tanned
gentleman stalked away, leaving the two friends aghast.

" Gad ! " Wyatt said ; " and that's Tregenna — like a rencon-
tre on the stage where the hero, supposed to be at the antipodes,
turns up at a minute's notice. I took him to be a sailor, mer-
chant captain, or something of that sort. Has his arrival, I
wonder, anything to do with the little Clive's flight from Lon-
don ? "

More and more dissatisfied, the young baronet left the room
and the hotel.

And this was the girl he had come home to marry — a flirt
who drew men only to refuse them and send them to perdition,
as that- perfumed puppy in the coffee-room phrased it — a fair
and fatal Circe, born to work evil and destruction on earth.

" I shall go down and see for myself," he thought, sternly ;
" that, at least my promise binds me to, but no hardened co-
quette shall ever be wife of mine. If I find Lady Cecil Clive
what I know I shall, I will leave England again within a week,
and try once more the plains of Texas, the buffalo, and the
Indians. I will take some dusky woman ; she shall rear my
savage brood. Well, not quite so bad as that, perhaps — I'm
not in love, and the fellow in Locks! ey Hall was — but I'll go to
my grave alone, and Tregenna shall pass to the next-of-kin,

240 AT SCARSWOOD.

sooner than marry a woman of the world who is a woman of
the world and no more. How lightly these llippant fops took
her name on their lips. And my poor father believed her an
angel because she had an angel face. It's enough to make a
man forswear the sex."

CHAPTER IV.

AT SCARSWOOD.

ATE in the afternoon of that sunny June day, at the
very hour indeed in which Sir Arthur Tregenna sat
listening to Wyatt and his companion in the coffee-
room of his hotel, Lady Dangerfield, her uncle, cousin,
governess, servants, etc. — an imposing procession — arrived from
London at Scarswood Park.

Scarswood ! With the rose flush of the setting sun upon it,
with the glades, the lawns, the shrubberies steeped in gold, with
the stone urns on the stone terraces turned to burnished silver,
the scarlet roses like sparks of fire, every leaf of the copper
beeches blood-red rubies, the windows glancing through the
trees like sheets of burnished gold, Scarswood Park and the
turretedold mansion came upon them — a marvelously fair pict-
ure. Trackless depths of fern waved away and away, the great
fish-pond spread out like a silver mirror. Landscape gardeners
under my lady's orders had done their work : the parterres,
the tropic bloom, the wealth of myrtle and mignonette, of roses
and geraniums, were like unto some modern garden of Eden.

" How lovely — what a magnificent old place ! " Lady Cecil
exclaimed ; " and you call it dull as death, as dismal as a tomb,
Ginevra ! "

It was her first visit to the ancestral home of her cousin's
rich husband, and in her heart of hearts the belle of London
dearly loved the countr)'^.

Lady Dangerfield glanced around her with a litde sour air.

" So it was, so it is, so it will be —if I let it. Why can't the
London season last forever ? I like rural life and rustic scenes
in pictures — in real life give me Belgravia, year in year out."

AT SCARSWOOD.

241

And balls, soirees, operas, drawing-rooms, and drives — the
old, weary, treadmill, tiresome, endless round. You are fear-
fully and wonderfully vital, Ginevra, and stand the wear and
tear well ; but if these little breathing spaces did not come even
you would have to go under speedily. For myself six weeks of
London, if you will, four of Paris, and the rest of the year in
just such a dear old countrj^ house as this, half a dozen nice
people to live with, one's country neighbors to visit, and Mrs.
Grundy forgotten."

" Well, my dear, you shall have all that and more, when you
are Lady Tregenna. Tregenna Towers is as old again as Scars-
wood, and twice as truly rural. Is that my lord and master I
see on the portico steps ? Really he shrivels up and grows
smaller with every passing day ! And here come Pearl and
Pansy flying down the steps like little wild Indians. Miss
Herncastle, what do you think of your future home and your
future pupils ? "

The governess, in charge of my lady's fat King Charles, had
taken the third seat in the carriage. The earl had not driven
with the ladies from the station. Miss Herncastle's large calm
eyes had been taking in everything, and Miss Herncastle's
calm tones replied :

" It is a beautiful place, my lady. But I have seen Scarswood
before."

" Indeed ! This is not your first visit to Sussex, then ? Was
it in Sir Peter's time, or before ? Pansy — Pearl ! Little
wretches, do you want to run under the carriage wheels ?
Stand back and be still ! Sir Peter, how stupid of you to let
those children run wild in this boisterous manner ! "

It w^as my lady's first greeting to her husband as she was
assisted out. Sir Peter had come down the steps to meet her ;
she gave him two gloved fingers, then gave the twins first a
shake, then a kiss. The little nine-year-olds were miniatures
of herself — the same round, black eyes, the same crisp, black
hair, the same petite features and proportions, and so much,
also, like one another that it seemed impossible at first glance
to tell them apart.

" You disobedient little midgets ! " their mamma said, " how
often have I told you not to rush to meet any one in that hoy-
denish way? What is your maid thinking of to let you ? "

"'Twasn't Susan's fault, mamma," piped one black-eyed twin.
" She told me to stay in the nursery, but me and Pansy saw the
carriage, and you and Auntie Cecil, from the window, and we
11

244 " ^ ^ SCARS WOOD.

But bad temper had years ago become a chronic complaint of
Lady Dangerfield's. The world had gone wrong with her in the
days of love's young dream, and soured the milk of human
kindness widiin her for all time. It was not Miss Herncastle's
fault, perhaps, that people should mistake her at first sight for
a ghost, still it was vexatious and exasperating, and if her nerves
w^ere to be unstrung in this manner, it would perhaps have been
better to have paid a higher price for a commonplace person,
who would not startle earls and baronets into mistaking her for
the spirit of their loved ones gone.

Lady Cecil lingered for a mouient behind. She laid her slen-
der gloved hand on the arm of the governess, and looked into
her face with that rarely sweet smile that had driven so many
men fathoms deep in love.

" You will not mind Lady Dangerfield, Miss Herncastle ?
She is nervous and easily irritated ; she has had a great deal of
trouble in her life-time, and little things annoy her. These
momentary irritations pass with her as quickly as they come.
Do not let them annoy you."

Sweet and gracious words, spoken with sweet and gracious
meaning. Miss Herncastle, still standing with Bijou humbly in
her arms, looked up and their eyes met, the eyes of the working-
woman and the delicate, high-bred patrician. What was in the
gaze of these steady gray eyes that made Lady Cecil recoil a
step ? What in the expression of the quiet face that made her
remove her hand hastily and shrink away ? She could never
have told ; the eyes were calm, the face emotionless, and yet —

" You are very kind, my lady. I am not annoyed — I have no
right to be. People in my position are not apt to be too sen-
sitive, still I thank you very much."

Lady Cecil bent her head, caught up her gray silk skirts and
swept away.

" Whoever Miss Llerncastle is, 'I think she must have seen
what they call better days. She is a lady evidently, in spite of
her position. She attracts me and repels me at once. They
are handsome eyes, but how coldly, how hardly they look at
you. A striking face, the face of a clever woman, and yet I
can't like it. Something in the look she .gave me just now
made my flesh creep, and she doesn't resemble any dead per-
son ever / knew. Papa took her for a ghost, and Sir Peter,
too. How very odd."

Perhaps she would have thought it yet more odd could she
have seen Sir Peter still lingering farther down the entrance

AT SCARSWOOD,

245

hall, screened by a porph5ay case taller than himself, and
watching the governess, as one of the servants conducted her
to her chamber. Still more odd, could she have seen him
follow, as though drawn by some irresistible fascination, up
along corridors and galleries, until he stood in the passage
leading to the nursery^ and the rooms of the governess and
children.

While he stood irresolute, hardly knowing what he wanted or
w4iy he had come, the nursery door opened, one of the twins
came bouncing out, and ran headlong against him in the evening
twilight of the hall.

"Don't scream. Pansy — it's I." Sir Peter clapped his hand
over her mouth. " I only came up here to — to — Pansy, where' s
the governess ? "

Pansy pointed to the nursery door, with wide eyes 'of wonder.

" What is she doing ? "

" Looking out of the window and looking grumpy. I hate
grumpy governesses. I hate Miss Herncastle. Why didn't
mamma fetch us a governess like Aunt Cecil. Sh^s nice. She
plays blind man's buff with us, and battledore. I hate poky
people. So does Pearl. Miss Herncastle' s poky, and solemn,
and stiff. Papa Peter, do you want her? I'll tell her."

"Oh! no, I don't want her — you mustn't tell her. I — I'm
going down again. Don't sa,y anything about my being up
here. Pansy — there's a good girl."

He turned in a nervous, irresolute manner — a manner that
had become habitual to him of late years — and groped his way
downstairs. Six years had passed since that tragic day, when
he had looked upon Katherine Dangerfield's dead face, and
those six years had made him an old man. Remorse, terror,
nerves, dyspepsia, be it what it might — the fact remained : Sir
Peter Dangerfield, at six-and-thirty, was an old man. He was
one of your fleshless, sallow people, who naturally age fast, and
since his marriage the change for the worse had been twice as
apparent as before. Plis pale, sunken eyes looked paler and
dinnner than ever, he walked with a habitual stoop, he shut
himself up with dry-as-dust books, and insects and fossils, and
had little to say to anybody.

The resident gentry of the neighborhood had instinctively
shunned him since his accession to Scarswood. Strangers
looked with a sort of contemptuous pity at the dried-up, shriv-
eled, pitiful master of this grand domain, and he shrank away
from those humiliating glances with morbid pride. The desire

246

AT SCARSWOOD,

of his heart was his — Katharine Dangerfield was in her grave
— he had had his revenge and his triumph — but never in the
days of his most abject poverty had he been half so miserable
as now.

Of Mrs. Vavasor he had never heard since that night upon
which he had paid her price, and they had parted. In Paris or
Baden, doubtless under some new no7n-de-fa?iiasia, she was en-
joying herself after her own fashion upon the proceeds of her
plotting.

Of all the actors in that dark tragedy of Scars wood, only
himself remained. Mr. Henry Otis shordy after removed to
London with all his belongings, and with Gaston Dantree.
" Katherine Dangerfield left him in my charge," the young as-
sistant said. " In my charge he remains until he is able to take
care of himself"

Whether or no that time had ever come, Sir Peter had never
discovered. Mr. Otis had never returned to Castleford, and it
was a subject he was chary of mentioning, or thinking of even.
It came to him in dreams — bad, disturbing dreams, engendered
partly by an evil conscience, partly by heavy English dinners.
In his waking hours the aim of his life was to banish it. And
lo ! in one of the hours when he had most succeeded, a woman,
a stranger, stood before him, like — horribly, unnaturally like —
Katherine Dangerfield.

Living, I will pursue you to the end of the earth. Dead,
I will return, if the dead can ! "

Pie had never forgotten those words — words only spoken in a
girl's impotent passion, in her knowledge of the cowardly and
superstitious nature she had to deal with. Words that were
but a weak woman's meaningless threat, but which from the
hour he had looked upon her dead face had returned to him
with ghastly force.

Would Miss Herncastle be at dinner ?

That was the one thought uppermost in his mind as he made
his own toilet. He kept no valet or body-servant of any kind.
Valets were expensive, thievish, and prying. None of the tribe
should spy upon him, and help devour his substance. My lady
was enormously extravagant. Retrenchment must begin some-
where.

Rich with silver, sparkling with crystal, white with linen, gay
with flowers, the round dinner-table looked a picture as he
came in. Through the long French window, open to the lawn,
the perfume of my lady's rose garden, the magnolias, and

AT SCARS WOOD.

247

clematis came. A silver gray mist lay over the park, a faint,
new moon glimmered up in the blue, a nightingale sang^ its
plaintive vesper chant in the green gloom of the trees, and far
off the shine of the summer stars lay upon the sea. And within
the gas was lit in all the crystal globes and silver branches,
and my lady, dressed in one of Worth's most ravishing master-
pieces, though there were no gentlemen to admire but her uncle
and husband, looked a fit goddess to preside at the feast. Lord
Ru3^sland, bland, urbane, suave, smooth, was faultlessly attired,
and with a rose in his button-hole. Lady Cecil, in gold-brown
silk the hue of her eyes, was also there ; but not Miss Hern-
castle. He drew a long breath of relief.

" I might have known it," he muttered. " My lady isn't the
one to dine with her nursery governess, company or no com-
pany. I shall see very Uttle of her, that's evident, and I'm
glad of it. What the devil does the woman mean looking like
— Hke— ?"

He did not care to speak the name even to himself ; but
ignore them as we may, there are things that will not be
forgotten. This was one. Miss Herncastle was not present
at the dinner-table, but the phantom face of the dead was. In
spirit Katherine Dangerfield was at his elbow, and he ate and
drank like a man in a gloomy dream.

" You're not looking well, my dear Dangerfield," my Lord
of Ruysland said. "You positively are not. You lose flesh,
you lose spirits, you lose appetite. It is evident that the air
of Scarswood does not agree v/ith you. Take my advice, and
go abroad."

His lordship was right. The air of Scarswood did 72ot agree
with Sir Peter Dangerfield, and never would.

" Go to Germany, and try the mineral waters. Change of
scene and tonics are what you want. By all means, Danger-
field, go abroad and try the waters. Beastly stuff, I admit,
but of use, sir — of use."

He needed waters certainly — the waters of Lethe — had that
fabled river existed in Germany. He was almost entirely
silent at dinner — silent still "across the walnuts and the wine,"
but in the drawing room, after dinner, he suddenly found his
tongue. His wife was practising some new music sent her by
Major Frankland, whose one weakness it was to fancy himself
a modern Mozart, and bore his friends to death with his own
compositions. Lord Ruysland had composed himself for a
comfortable slumber in a sleepy, hollow arm-chair, and Lady

248

AT SCARSWOOD.

Cecil, pensive and pale, stood gazing out at the luminous,
starrydusk, listening to the nightingale's song, to the call of the
deer in the park, to the soft summer murmur of the trees.

" Lady Cecil, is Miss Herncastle's hair brown or black? "

From her waking dream, a sharp piping voice at her elbow,
asking this abrupt question, aroused her. She glanced round,
glanced down, for she was the taller of the two, and saw the
pinched, yellow fiice of little Sir Peter.

Now, Lady Cecil, out of the greatness of a generous heart,
had an infinite pity for all inferior, all persecuted, all long-suffer-
ing things. And she pitied Sir Peter greatly. His wife treated
him with about half a quarter the respect and affection she felt
for Bijou, and would have bewailed the death of the dog much
the deeper of the two. He looked sickly and miserable : he had
no friends, no companions ; he was, in her eyes, a poor, little,
imposed-upon, persecuted martyr. Some instinct told him she
was his friend, and in his trouble he came to her now. She would
not laugh at him, she would not repeat what he said, and he must
confide in some one or die.

" My dear Sir Peter, how you startled me ! I was thousands
of miles away, I believe, when you spoke. What did you say?
Miss Herncastle — what ? "

" I asked you if Miss Herncastle had long, light-brown hair ? "

A curious question surely. Lady Cecil's soft, fawn-colored
eyes opened a little.

" For its length, I cannot answer. Who can tell who has
long or short hair in these days of chignons and false tresses.
Of the color I can't speak positively. It is black — jet black."

" Black ! " he gave a great gasp of relief. " You are sure,
Lady Cecil?"

" Certain, Sir Peter. And her eyebows and eyelashes are
of the same dense darkness."

"And her eyes. Lady Cecil — are they gray ?"

" Still harping on my daughter ! " laughed La Reine Blanche.
"Yes, Sir Peter, they are gray — very dark — very large — very
fine. You appear to take a most extraordinary interest in
Ginevra's new governess, certainly. Resembles, doubtless,
some one you have known ? "

" Resembles ! that is not the word for it. I tell you, Lady
Cecil" — in a voice of deep suppressed intensity — "it is the
same face, the same — the same. Older, graver, deeper, changed
in some things — but the same. The face of Katherine Dan-
gerfield ! "

AT SCARSWOOD.

249

The name had not passed his lips for years. His eyes had a
glitter, his whole face an excitement, his voice an intensity she
had never heard before. She drew back from him a Httle, yet
cmious and interested too.

" Katherine Dangerfield. Yes, I have heard her story. It
was in the papers years ago, and Ginevra told me of her at the
time of her marriage. A very sad story — a very sad fate. She
lost all — fortune, name, father, and her affianced husband, on
her wedding day. And a week after she died. It is the sad-
dest story, I think I ever heard. What a dastard, what a cow-
ardly dastard that man must have been. What became of him,
Sir Peter ? "

I don't know, I have never asked — I never cared. / was
not to blame — no one has a right to blame me — I only took
what was lawfully my own — she had no shadow of right to Scars-
wood. How could I tell she would die ? Other women lose
their fathers, their husbands, their fortunes, and live on. How
did I know it would kill her ? I say again," his voice rising
shrill, and high, and angr)t, no one has a right to blame
mer'

And no one does blame you. Sir Peter. Why should they ?
Of course you could not foretell she would die. The only one
to blame was that wretch who deserted her. She was ready to
give up everything for him — to take him, poor and obscure as
he was, and love him, and give him all, and in the hour of her
ruin he deserted her. Oh, it was a shame — a shame ! And Gin-
evra's governess really resembles this poor dead young lady
,so strongly ? "

"It is horrible, I tell you — horrible! I thought I saw a
ghost when she rose up before me three hours ago. Lady
Cecil, do you believe in ghosts ? "

He asked the question abruptly, and with perfect gravity.
Lady Cecil laughed.

" Believe in ghosts ! My dear Sir Peter, who does beHeve in
ghosts in the nineteenth century ? I fancy the ghosts of Ban-
quo and Hamlet's father are the only ghosts ever seen in Eng-
land now. Like the fairies, they crossed to Germany centuries
ago."

" Have you read Scott's Dejnonology^ 2Si^ Mrs. Crowe's
'Night Side of Nature; Lady Cecil ? "

" And Mrs. Radcliffe's raw-head-and-bloody-bone romances ?
Oh, yes. Sir Peter, I have gone through them all."

" And still you don't beheve ? "
11*

AT SCARSWOOD.

" And still I don't believe. Wtien I see a ghost bonO, fide and
in — no, out of the flesh, I shall yield ; not sooner. But why-
do you ask ? Surely, Sir Peter, you don't believe in anything
so absurd ? "

" Who can vouch for its absurdity ? I.ady Cecil, yes — I do
believe that the spirits of the dead return."

Lady Cecil looked at him, half-laughing, half-dismayed, and
gave a little feminine shiver.

" Good gracious I how German you grow. This comes of
living alone, with blinded eyesight 'poring over miserable
books,' as Tennyson says. Now, Sir Peter, I am skeptical. I
want proof. But I am open to conviction. Did you ever see
a ghost ? That is what alchemists call a ' crucial test.' In
the dead waste and middle of the night do spirits from the vasty
deep come to make darkness hideous ?"

" You laugh, Lady Cecil," he said, hoarsely. " In the vulgar
superstition no ghost in shroud ever came to my bedside, but
there are other ways of being haunted. There are dreams — hor-
rible, awful dreams, that come night after night, the same thing
over and over, and from which you startup with the cold sweat
on your brow and the damp of death in your hair — visions that
come to you in your sleep from the infernal regions, I beUeve,
more ghastly than any waking vision. Over and over, and
ever the same — what do you call that. Lady Cecil ? "

" Hot suppers. Sir Peter, and heavy dinners. Any skillful
physician will exorcise your dreaming apparitions."

" And a few miles from here there is a house, Bracken Hollow
it is called, which no one, not the bravest in the parish, is willing
to pass after nightfall. A house in which a murder once was
done, where unearthly sights are seen at unearthly hours, and
unearthly sounds heard. What do you say to that ? "

" That it's a very common story, indeed. Why even at papa's
place, down in Hants, Clive Court, popular rumor says there
is a ghost. An Earl of Ruysland, who committed suicide two
hundred years ago, stalks about yet in the twilight, gory and
grim. That is the legend, but no living mortal has ever seen
him. If he walks, as they say, he takes good care to keep out
of sight. There are haunted houses in every county in Eng-
land. No fine old family would be complete without its family
ghost."

" You don't believe what you say. Lady Cecil. I tell you I
have heard the sounds at Bracken Hollow myself."

" Indeed I " but still Lady Cecil smiled skepdcally : " a real^

AT SCARSWOOD,

251

bond, fide haunted house ! What a charming neighborhood.
Now the one ungratified ambition of my Hfe is to see a disem-
bodied spirit — to hear it, if it is indined to make noise. Before
I am a week older I shall pay — what was it ? — Bracken Hollow
— a visit. Bracken Hollow ! it has a ghostly and mysterious
sound. Has the ghost full possession of the premises, or is
Bracken Hollow shared by some less ethereal tenant ? "

"An old woman lives there. She was Katherine Danger-
field's nurse — Old Hannah."

" Then I shall pay Old Hannah a visit, and investigate. I
shall positively, Sir Peter. .Excuse me, Ginevra is calling — I
suppose she wants me to help her with that tiresome sonata."

She walked away, leaving Sir Peter gloomily by the window
alone.

"I have heard of monomaniacs — sane on all things save one
— mad on that," she thought. " I believe Sir Peter is a mono-
maniac on the subject of ghosts."

Perhaps Lady Cecil vv^as right. He hadn't even told her all his
madness. How evening after evening, rain or shine, summer
or winter, through sleet or storm, a " spirit in his feet" led him
whether or no to Katherine Dangerfield's grave. He had no
wish to go, but he went — he could not stay away. It had
grown such a habit that it seemed to him now if he did not pay
that twilight visit she would assuredly visit him before morning
dawned. He made his daily pilgrimage to this Mecca, and the
people of the town had grown tired talking and wondering over
it. " He took everything from her when she was alive," they
said, " and now that she's dead he plays the hypocrite, and
visits her grave every evening. I wonder he isn't afraid she'll
rise up and confront him."

Perhaps he was — it had been the mania of his life. Surely
Katherine had kept her vow. He was, if there ever was in this
world, " a haunted man" — sane enough on all other things — on
this, much thinking had made him mad.

He retired early that night — he was less alone shut up by
himself than'in the drawing-room with his wife and her relatives.
All night long candles burned in his bedroom, and one of the
men servants slept in an open closet adjoining. Never without
light and never alone.

He had grown sleepless, too — and it was generally the small
hours before slumber came to him. He arose late next day,
breakfasted by himself, and did not join the family until luncheon
time.

252

AT SCARSWOOD.

Miss Herncastle was not at that meal either — it seemed she
was to take all hers with the children in the nursery. He had
his wife's hauteur and intolerance to thank for something at
least.

He returned to his study, spent three hours impaling his
beetles and cockchafers, then arose, put on his hat and turned
to leave the house. Little Pansy ran up against him in the

" Pj-pa Peter," she said, " do you know who's come ? "

" Sir Arthur Tregenna. Such a — oh such a great big man,
with yellow whiskers and a solemn face — as solemn as Miss
Herncastle's. We don't like Miss Herncastle — Pearl and me
— she won't play with us, and can't dress dolls. We like Aunt
Cecil — we do. She was playing 'Hunt the Squirrel' with us
when Sir Arthur came up in the fly from the station. He's in
the drawing-room now with mamma and Uncle Raoul, and is
going to stay ever so long. I wish he had stayed away. Aunt
Cecil won't play 'Hunt the Squirrel' now any more. She
blushed when he caught her. I hate great big men."

"Ah ! yes — at nine — you'll probably change your opinion at
nineteen," muttered "papa Peter" cynically, passing out.

Except as they swelled the diurnal bill of household expenses,
my lady's visitors were very little concern to my lady's husband.
He went on his way now, his hat pulled over his eyes, his small
stooping figure bent, his spectacles fixed on the ground — moody,
solitary, unhappy — to pay his daily visit to that lonesome grave.

The last light of the July sun came slanting over the downs,
through the trees, and lay in ridges of glory upon' the graves.
It was all strangely hushed here ; the town with its bustle, and
life, and noise lay behind. Death and silence reigned. He
rarely met any one at this hour; the towns-people were taking
their tea. Yonder was the house wherein slie had died — yon-
der her grave, with its gray cross and its brief inscription —

He knew it so well — he had been here so often. Would he
go on coming here, he wondered wearily, as long as he lived.

He paused. What was that ? He was near the grave, and
standing looking down upon it, her back turned to him, he saw
a woman. A- woman ! His heart gave one great bound, then
seemed to turn cold and still. He went on — on — softly over the

hall.

Katherine,

^TAT 17.

Resurgam.

''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS:' 253

grass, impelled by the same irresistible fascination that drew
him here. His feet struck a dry twig ; it snapped, and the
woman turned and looked round. There, over Katherine
Dangetfield's grave, looking at him with Katherine Dangerfi eld's
eyes, stood Miss Herncastle, the governess !

CHAPTER V.
"once more the gate behind me falls."

OR one moment he thought the dead had arisen ; for
one moment — he stood speechless and spell-bound ;
for one brief, horrible moment he thought he saw
Katherine Dangerfield looking at him across her own
grave ! She made no attempt to speak, but stood with her icy
gaze fixed upon him — her pale, changeless, marble face. {le
was the first to break the silence.

"Miss Herncastle !" he gasped — "you ! "
Her eyes left him, and he moved. While they were riveted
upon him he had stood as one under a spell.

" I, Sir Peter ! " — the low, soft, sweet tones lingered like
music on the ear — " and I fear I have startled you again; but
I never dreamed of seeing you here."

" Nor I you. What brings you, a stranger, to this place of
all places. Miss Herncastle, so soon after your arrival?"

He asked the question angrily and suspiciously. Surely
there was something ominous and sinister in this woman, who
looked enough like the dead girl to have been her twin sister,
and who visited her grave so speedily.

Miss Herncastle drew her mantle about her tall, slim figure,
and turned to go.

" I came out for a walk, Sir Peter. I have been in the
school-room all day, and I am not used to such close confine-
ment. I asked my lady's permission to take a walk, and she
gave it. I am a rapid walker, and I soon found myself here,
the town behind. It looked so peaceful, so calm, so inviting,
that I entered. This lonely grave attracted me, and I was
reading the inscription as you came up. If I had known it

254 ''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS:'

could have mattered in any way — that I would have disturbed
any one by coming — I should not have come."

She bent her head respectfully, and moved away. Dressed
all in black, moving with a peculiarly swift, noiseless, gliding
step, she looked not unlike a phantom herself flitting among
the graves. And in what an emotionless, level monotone she
had spoken, as a child repeats a lesson learned by rote !

He stood and looked after her, darkly, distrustfully. It
seei^pd plausible enough ; but that hidden instinct that comes
to us to warn us of danger, told him something was wrong.

" Who is she ? " he repeated — "who is she ? Enough like
Katherine to be her twin sister. Who is she ? " He stopped
suddenly. " Enough like Katherine to be her twin sister ! "
And why not ? — why not Katherine's sister? Who was there
to say Katherine never had a sister? He knew nothing of her
or her family, save what Mrs. Vavasor chose to tell. Katherine
might have had a dozen sisters for what he or she ever knew.
A gleam came into his eyes ; he set his teeth with some of his old
bull-dog resolution. Katherine is dead and buried — nothing
can alter that ; and this young woman, this Miss Herncastle, is
more like her than it is possible for any but sisters to be. I'll
find out who Miss Herncastle is, and all about her, and what
she's here for, before I'm a month older ! "

*' Queenie ! " Lady Dangerfield said, tossing her cousin a
rose-colored, rose-sealed, rose-scented note, " read that."

Lady Cecil caught it. The note was written in big, dashing
chirography, and this is what it said :

** St. James Street, July 2d.
" Dearest Lady Dangerfield : A million thanks for your gracious
remembrance — a million more for your charming invitation. I will be with
you on the afternoon of the 4th. From what I hear of it, Scarswood Park
must be a terrestrial paradise, but would not any place be that where you
were ? Devotedly,

"Jasper Algernon Frankland."

Lady Cecil's brown eyes flashed. The fulsome, florid style
of compliment, the familiarity — the easy insolence of the writer
— grated like some discordant noise on her nerves. She looked
up reproachfully.

"Oh, Ginevra!"

" And, oh, Queenie ! " with a short laugh, but not looking
round from the stand of guelder-roses over which she was bend-
ing. " You see we will not be moped to death down here after
all. And we shall have two gentlemen more than we counted

''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS.'' 255

on for our lawn party this afternoon. I wonder what sort of a
croquet player Sir Arthur is, by the bye."

" Ginevra, I wish you hadn't asked Major Frankland down
here. I detest that man. Sir Peter is jealous. The odious
familiar way he addresses you, too, and his horrid, coarse, com-
monplace compliments. Any place must be a paradise where
you are ! Bah ! Why doesn't he try to be original at least."

" Lady Cecil Clive is pleased to be fastidious," retorted Lady
Dangerfield, tearing a guelder-rose to pieces. " Who is^rigi-
nal nowadays ? To be original means to be eccentric—to be
eccentric is' the worst possible style, only allowable in poets and
lunatics. Major Frankland being neither, only — "

" A well-dressed idiot — "
Only an everyday gentleman — answers my" note of invita-
tion in everyday style. You ought to thank me, Queenie.
Who is to entertain Sir Arthur and take him off your hands
when you tire of him ? Even baronets with thirty thousand a
year may pall sometimes on the frivolous mind of a young lady
of two-and-twenty. Your father will do his best — and Uncle
Raoul's best, when he tries to be entertaining, means a good
deal; but still Major Frankland will be a great auxiUary.
Queenie, I wonder why you dislike him so much ! "

" I dislike all mere club-room loungers, all well-dressed tai-
lors' blocks, without one idea in their heads, or one honest,
manly feeling in their hearts. Jasper Frankland knows Sir
Peter hates him. If he were a right-feeling man, would he come
at all, knowing it ?"

" Certainly, when I invite him. And again, and again, and
again Sir Peter ! I wish Sir Peter was at — Queenie, you have
had an excellent bringing-up under the care of that wicked,
worldly old dowager, Lady Ruth, but in some things you are as
stupid as any red-cheeked, butter-making dairymaid. Talking
of ideas, and feeling, and Sir Peter's jealousy — such nonsense !
.When I did Sir Peter Dangerfield — and, without exception, I
believe he is the most intensely stupid and disagreeable little
wretch the wide earth holds — when I did him the honor of
marrying him, I did it to secure for myself a pleasant home, all the
comforts and luxuries of life — and I class the society of pleas-
ant men like Jasper Frankland, chief among those luxuries.
He is the best figure, the best style, the best bow, the best
waltzer, the best second in a duel, and the best scandal-monger
from here to the ' sweet shady side of Pall Mall' If Sir Peter
doesn't like the friends I ask, then I would recommend Sir Peter

256 ''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS?'

to keep out of their sight, and make himself happy in the so-
ciety of his impaled bugs, and dried butterflies, and stuffed
toads. Congenial companionship, I should say — birds of a
feather, etc. By the way, what was that long discourse you
and he had last evening about ? Natural philosophy ?"

" No, ghosts," answered Lady Cecil, gravely. " He be-
lieves in ghosts. So did the great Dr. Johnson — ^was it ? He
isn't quite positive yet that Miss Herncastle is not the disem-
bodii^ spirit of that poor girl that died here. And he says
there is a place three miles off — Bracken Hollow, I believe,
haunted to a dead certainty. Now I am going to see that
house the very first opportunity. Sir Peter gravely affirms that
he has heard the sights and seen the sounds — no — I don't
mean that — the other way — vice versa^

" My opinion is," said Sir Peter's v/ife, "that Sir Peter is in
a very bad way, and that we shall be taking out a decree of
lunacy against him one of those days. Sir Peter may not abso-
lutely be mad, but in the elegantly allegorical language of the
day, his head's not level."

" What is that about Sir Peter ? " inquired the earl sauntering
up. " Mad is he, Ginevra? 'Pon my fife I always thought so
since he committed his crowning folly of marrying j'^?/. Pray,
what has he done lately ? "

" Nothing more than the Right Honorable the Earl of Ruys-
land has done before him — talked of seeing ghosts. He takes
Miss Herncastle, the governess, for a ghost. So did you. Now,
Uncle Raoul, whose ghost did you take her for ? "

She shot her words back spitefully enough. The earl's little
satirical jests were apt to be biting sometimes. She looked at
him as she asked the question, but my lord's countenance never
changed. Like Talleyrand, if you had kicked him from behind,
his face would not show it.

" Does she bear an unearthly resemblance to some lovely
being, loved and lost half a century ago, my lord ? You
remember she gave you quite a start the day of her arrival."

" I remember," said the earl placidly ; " but she did not
disturb me very greatly. She has a vague. sort of resemblance
to a lady dead and gone, but not sufficient to send me into
hysterics. Queenie, Pm going to the station — you know who
comes to-day?"

" Yes, papa," constrainedly.

" If you are going into Castleford, my lord," said Ginevra,
" I have two or three commissions I wish you would execute.

*'ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS." 257

Qiieenie. where are you going ? — it will not detain me an in-
stant."

" I am going to the nursery. Lessons are over by. this time,
and Pearl says no one can make dolls' dresses with the skill I
can."

She left the room. Lady Dangerfield looked after her, then
at her uncle, with a malicious smile.

" If you really want Cecil to marry Sir Arthur Tregenna, all
your finesse, all your diplomacy will be required. I foresee
thirty thousand trembling in the balance. She is inclined to
rebel — talks about being sold and the rest of it. As I said to
herself, in spite of her admirable bringing up, her ideas on some
subjects are in a deplorably crude and primitive state."

" She shall marry Sir Arthur," the earl responded serenely;
it is written — it is destiny. Her ideas have nothing whatever
to do with it ; and if there be any point of worldly hardness
and polish which Lady Ruth may have omitted, who so compe-
tent as you, my dear Ginevra, to teach it? I am at peace —
my only child is in safe hands. Write out your list quickly, my
dear. I shall be late as it is."

His niece laughed, but her eyes flashed a little. It was dia-
mond cut diamond always between the worldly uncle and quite
as worldly niece, and yet in their secret hearts they liked each
other, and suited each other well.

Lady Cecil reached the school-room. Lessons were just
ended, and Miss Herncastle stood looking wearily out of the
window at the mellow afternoon radiance — fagged and pale.
Lady Cecil glanced at her compassionately.

" You look wearied to death. Miss Herncastle; 1 am afraid
you find the Misses Dalrymple terrible little Neros in pinafores.
Do go out for a walk, and Pearl and Pansy and I will go and
dress dolls under the trees."
But, Lady Dangerfield—"

" Lady Dangerfield is in the drawing-room ; you can ask her
if you choose — she will not object. I am sure you need a
walk. Come, children, and fetch, your whole family of dolls."

Miss Herncastle obtained permission to take a walk, and set
out. As she passed down the noble arching avenue she espied
the earl's daughter and the twins solenmly seated under a big
beech, sewing for their lives. Lady Cecil looked up, smiled,
and nodded approval from her work. Very lovely she looked,
the amber sunshine shifting down through the green and ruby
leaves on her loose-floating, abundant brown hair, flashing back

258 ''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS:'

from that other amber sunshine in her hazel eyes, from the
sweet smihng lips, from the eaiL de nil dress with its innumer-
able flounces and frillings, its point-lace collar, and cluny bor-
derings. In that shimmering robe, and with a long spray of
tangled ivy buds in her hair, she might have been painted for
Titania, Queen of the Fairies, herself

Beautiful as a vision — the belle of the season — sought,
courted, caressed, beloved by all. Did the contrast strike
somber Miss Herncastle, in her plain brown merino dress, ugly
of texture, of color, of make, walking in the dust as she went
by ? The after days told.

The high red sun dropped half an hour lower. The young
ladies and gentlemen invited for my lady's lawn party would be
here presently now, and one of the twins' nine dolls, big and
little, had had a new dress finished. Lady Cecil looked up,
and said she must go. The twins pleaded piteously for one
game of tag," and " Aunt Cecil" consented. The dolls were
flung down in an ignominious heap, and Lady Cecil flew in chase
of the children with a zest, that for the moment equaled their
own. And thus it was, flushed, breathless, dishevelled, laugh-
ing, romping like a girl of twelve, Sir Arthur Tregenna saw her
first.

The earl had been late — it was the earl's inevitable fate to
be late on every occasion in life — and the great Cornish baronet
had driven up to Scarswood in a fly like any ordinary mortal.
Through a break in the beeches, her clear sweet laugh rang
out as the twins pounced upon her, and made her their captive.
All aglow, all breathless, she came full upon Sir Arthur.

He was laughing from sympathy with that merry peal. If
she had striven for a thousand years to bewitch him she could
never have succeeded half so well as in this moment, when she
was not thinking of him at all. She stopped short — still laugh-
ing, blushing and aghast.

" Lady Cecil Clive, I believe ?"

He took off his hat and stood bareheaded before her — tall,
noble, gravely smiling, as Lady Cecil gave him her hand.

" Sir Arthur Tregenna, I am sure. Did you not meet —
Pansy, be quiet — did you not meet papa ? He left here to go
to the station."

" I did not meet him. Probably I passed him, for I left the
station immediately."

" Then permit me to welcome you in his stead. Ah ! here
is papa now, and Major Frankland."

''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS:' 259

A second fly drove up, and for the first and last time in her
life, Lady Cecil Clive was glad to see Major Frankland. It
was a rare — a very rare thing — for La Reine Blanche^ trained
into perfect high-bred self-possession by three London seasons,
to feel a touch of embarrassment in the presence of any one,
king or kaiser, but she felt it now.

"My dear boy — my dear Arthur!" The earl sprang out
and shook the young baronet's hand with effusion. Such a
contretemps — ^just a moment too late — I saw you drive off, and
I returned with Frankland. Major Frankland, of the — th
Lancers — Sir Arthur Tregenna."

The two gentlemen lifted their hats. Sir Arthur rather stiffly,
and under restraint — the gallant, whiskered major with that
charming ease and grace which had years ago won away Ginevra
Dangerfield's heart.

" Aw, my dear Lady Cecil — chawmed to see you again, and
looking so well — so very well ; but then we all know, to our
cost, La Reine Blanche invariably looks her best on every oc-
casion. And here comes our chawming hostess. Aw, Lady
Dangerfield, so happy to meet you once more. London has
been a perfect desert — ahowhng-aw — wilderness, I assure you,
since two of its fairest flowers have ceased-aw — to bloom ! "

And then the mistress of Scarswood was greeting an*d wel-
coming her guests, and the first detachment of the lawn party
began to arrive, and in the bustle Lady Cecil made good her
escape.

The travelers were shown to their rooms. She heard them
go past — heard the major's aggravating half lisp, half drawl. Sir
Arthur's deep, grave tones, and clenched one little hand where
it lay on the window sill, and set her scarlet lips hard.

"The sultan has come, and his slave must wait until it pleases
him to throw the handkerchief. He comes here to inspect me
as he might a horse, or a house he wanted to buy; and if I suit
him, I am to be bought. If I do not — Oh, papa ! papa ! how
could you subject me to so shameful an ordeal ? "

An imperious tap at the door, an imperious voice without :

" Queenie ! Queenie ! are you dead ? Open the door."

Lady Cecil opened. My lady, all summery muslin, Val-
enciennes lace, and yellow roses, appeared, her black eyes
alight, her cheeks glowing with pleasure and liquid rouge.

" Come, Queenie ; you are to be on the opposite side — first
red, and all that. Every one has come, and Sir Arthur and the
major are on the croquet ground. Really, Cecil, Sir Ai-thiu:

260 ''ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS:'

isn't bad looking — that is to say, if he were not beside Jasper.
Comparisons are odious, and beside him — ^"

"Of coarse, beside him, the Angel Gabriel, if he were to de-
scend, would appear to disadvantage. Ginevra, Sir Arthur
looks as if he had common-sense, at least ; more than I can say
for your pet military poodle. Poor little Bijou ! if he only
knew what a dangerous rival has come to oust him."

"Don't be sarcastic, Queenie," her cousin answered, with
perfect good temper ; "it's the worst thing can possibly be said
of a girl. Makes men afraid of her, you know. You may take
Sir Arthur on your side ; the major, of course, is on mine ; and
we shall croquet you off the face of the earth. He plays as he
does everything — exquisitely."

They descended together to the croquet ground — an admir-
able foil — blonde and brunette. Lady Dangerfield knew it, and
made the most of it, as she did everything else.

Sir Ardiur did not play. He took a seat with the earl on the
limit of the croquet ground, and talked and watched the players.
The major and Lady Dangerfield played a vigorous game, send-
ing their adversaries' balls to the farthest limits of space, and
never missing a hoop. Lady Cecil played abominably ; her
side was beaten ingloriously in every game. How could she
play ? — how could she do anything, knowing, feeling, that the
eyes of Sir Arthur were upon her, while he calmly deliberated
whether or no she were fitted to be his wife.

Lady Cecil was right. Sir Arthur's eyes were upon her, and
Sir Arthur was speculating as to whether or no she was fitted
to be his wife. What a fair, sweet, proud face it was ; how
much soul in the softly lustrous eyes ; how much gentleness,
goodness, about the perfect lips. How like a bright, happy
child she had looked as he had seen her first with brown hair
flying, brown eyes dancing, rose lips laughing, and pearl cheeks
softly flushed, in that bewitching game of romps. Could any one
who looked like that — who loved little children and played with
them, a very child herself, be the cold-blooded coquette, the
vain flirt, who trampled on hearts wholesale, for her selfish grati-
cation ? No, no, a hundred times no ! Such a face must mir-
ror a pure and spotless soul ; eyes like these took their kind-
ness and their sweetness from a gentle and womanly heart.

" Her loveliness makes men her captives. How can she be
blamed for that ?" he thought. He was beginning to plead for
her already ; the spell of that " angel face," which had ensnared
so many, was beginning to throw its glamour over him. And

**ONCE MORE THE GATE BEHIND ME FALLS.'' 26 1

he was predisposed to be pleased. He wanted to fulfill his
father's d3dng wish and marry his old friend's daughter.

Lady Cecil's party experienced a third disastrous defeat, and
by that time the summer dusk had fallen, and the countless stars
were oul^ Then one of the young ladies from the rectory —
young ladies from the rectory are always useful — went into the
house and played some delicious German waltzes, the music
floating from four high windows, open from floor to ceiling.
Lady Cecil waltzed with the rector's tall son, with Squire Tal-
bot from Morecambe, with Major Frankland even, when that
splendid officer at last left his liege lady's side. If she had
never flirted before, she flirted w^ith Sir Arthur's eyes upon her.

" He shall take me for wliat I am if he takes me at all," she
thought. " I shall never play the hypocrite to entrap him."

What did Sir Arthur think, sitting there, looking on with
grave eyes? He did not dance, he did not croquet, he didn't
talk much ; he was not in any way a carpet knight, or an orna-
ment of society. Frivolous people like Lady Dangerfield were
apt to be afraid of him. Those calm, passionless gray eyes
looked at you with so earnest a light that you were apt to
shrink under them, feeling what a foolish, empty-headed sort of
person you were — a man to be respected, beyond doubt — a
man not so easily to be liked.

What did he think ? Under the stars she looked very lovely,
and loveliness in woman covereth a multitude of sins. She
waltzed with them all, and Sir Arthur was one of those uncivi-
lized beings you meet now and then who do not like waltzing.
Your bride-elect in the arms of another man, even though it
be in a round dance, is to your ill-trained mind a jarring and
indelicate sight. She waltzed until her cheeks flushed and her
eyes shone like brown diauionds, and her clear, soft voice and
laugh rang out for all. What did he think ? The earl frowned
inwardly — only inwardly ; anything so disfiguring as a frown
never really appeared upon his placid, well-trained face.

Wrinkles came soon enough of themselves," he was wont to
say ; " no need to hasten them on scowfing at a world you can-
not improve."

There came a call, " supper," and the waltzing ended. The
dancers paired off and defiled into the supper room.

"The tocsin of the soul, the dinner bell," laughed Lady
Cecil ; " and what with three games of croquet and four waltzes
I am both hungry and fatigued."

And then the rector's tall, handsome son — a 'Varsity man—

262

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

with that flirting manner some young men cultivate, said som^
thing in a whisper that looked tender, however it might sound.
Sir Arthur's gray eyes saw it all. Was this flirting? — was Zdf
Reine Blanche at her favorite game ? ^

They went into the briUiantly lighted dining-roomJUt^here an
Aberdeen salmon, a la mayonaise^ lay reposing tranquilly in a
bed of greenery and prawns, where lobster salad, and cold
chicken, and pine-apple cream, and Moselle and strawberries^
looked like an epicurean picture under softl}^ abundant gasaliers.

Lady Cecil still kept her victim, the tall, slim college man
by her side, and they devoted themselves to one another very
exclusively. They were probably discoursing the rival merits
of salmon and lobster salad, but they looked as if they were
gently murmuring,

" How is it under our control
To love or not to love ? "

Sir Arthur had the post of honor on the right of his hostess
• — Major Frankland supported her on the left. Sir Peter was
not present — he sat solitary and alone in his study, like an oyster
in its shell, while feasting and merry-making went on around
him. And when the great ormolu and malachite clock over
the mantel struck the half hour after eleven, the company dis-
persed, and the guests sought their own rooms. What did Sir
Arthur think, as he bade the earl's fair daughter good-night, and
watched her float away in her eau de 7iil dress up the stairs and
disappear in a silvery shower of moonrays ? That impassive
face of his gave no sign.

CHAPTER VI.

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

ND your picnic is inevitable, I suppose. Lady Danger-
field ; and one must go and grill alive, and yawn all
day, and get one's complexion destroyed with the boil-
ing seaside sun, and call it pleasure. You mean well,
Ginevra, I dare say, but your ceaseless pleasure excursions grow
to be ceaseless bores."

Lady Cecil said all this in the slowest, softest, sleepiest, lazi-

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE,

263

est possible tone of voice. She was lying on a sofa, in a loose,
white morning robe, her bronze hair all damp, and loose,
and out of curl, a book in her hand, and her gold-brown eyes
full of lazy languor.

Lady p)angerfield, got up in elaborate walking costume, had
just bustled in — she always bustled and made a noise — and had
burst forth in a torrent of reproaches at finding her indolent
cousin still in a state of semi-undress.

- " You laziest, you most indolent of mortals ! get up instantly
and be off and dress. The carriages will be here in half an
hour — twenty minutes I tell you — and you haven't one thing
on. The picnic is inevitable, and seeing you were one of the
first to organize it, I think it is a little too disgraceful to find
you like this at the last moment."

"Like this is so very comfortable though, Ginevra. My
novel is really interesting. Countess Aglae, on the eve of her
marriage with the Duke of Crowndiamonds, runs away with a
charming young head-groom, whose ordinary conversation reads
like blank verse. Well if I must T must, I suppose." She
threw aside herliovel and arose. " It is so preposterously fine
and sunshiny this morning, that I am certain we will have a
storm before night, and come home drenched. Half an hour
did you say, Ginevra, before we start ? Tranquillize your nerves
then, dear — I shall be ready in half the time."

A week had passed since the afternoon of Sir Arthur's and
Major Frankland's arrival, and a very animated week it had
been. Lady Dangerfield never grew weary in well-doing ; her
fertile brain originated pleasure party after pleasure party, with
an assiduity worthy a better cause. There had been long ex-
cursions to ruins, there had been a day's visit to a distant gypsy
encampment, there had been lawn biUiards, boating parties,
croquet, and drives and gallops to every interesting spot for
miles around. There had been Fortnum & Mason's hampers,
chickens and champagne, pates de fois gras, and claret cup, on
land and sea, and now a genuine old-fashioned picnic to the
seashore was under way ; Fortnum & Mason were voted a
nuisance ; they would boil their own kettle on the sands, and
make their own tea, true gypsy style, dispense v/ith the tall gen-
tleman in plush and prize calves from the Hall, and wait upon
themselves. My lady, ever on the alert for something new,
proposed this, and had been warmly seconded on all sides.

A week had passed since Sir Arthur's arrival — seven long
summer days and nights under the same roof with Lady Cecil,

264

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

the greatest flirt of the season. What did he think of her by
tliis time ? No one could have told ; not the young lady, cer-
tainly, to whom his manner was calm, friendly, and genial, but
as far removed from her experience of love-making, as it was
possible to imagine. Not her father, watching him^furtively,
impatiently ; he bore himself towards her with the same distant,
somewhat stiff courtesy he showed his hostess and the other
ladies who visited Scarswood.

How was it going to end ? Would he propose, or would he,
after another week or so, say, " Good-by, Lady Cecil," in the
same cool, grave, unsmiling way in which he now said good-
morning and good-night ? It was such an inscrutable face, that
face of his, that it told nothing. This solemn, uplifted manner,
those grave tones speaking grave sentences, might be his way
of making love, for all the earl knew.

For Cecil herself, she liked it, and liked him all the better for
letting her so tranquilly alone. All women — the most hardened
coquette among them — like men best who don't lower their flag
at once. She was bewitchingly pretty, and fresh and bright,
and knew it beyond doubt ; but as far as she could see, all her
beauty, and brightness, and fascinations were so many arrows
that glanced off his polished chain-mail armor. She was singu-
larly free from vanity ; in a calm way she was conscious of her
own great beauty, as she was proud of her old name, but the
smallness of personal conceit she had never felt. And reas-
sured by Sir Arthur's manner, she let herself grow friendly, and
pleasant, and familiar, as it was in her genial nature to be. She
got down off her stilts, and waJked with him, and talked with
him, and found, when properly drawn out, he could talk well.
He could tell her, by the hour together, of fair, foreign lands,
of the East — every inch of which he knew — every sacred place
of which he had visited. He could tell her of Australia and its
wonderful hidden wealth — of briglit, busy, trans-Atlantic cities
— of California, where he had lived for months among camps
and mines, and the reckless men, the sweepings of the world,
who fly there for safety or for gold.

He told her of Algiers, where he had wintered last year, and
of how narrowly his life had been saved. He had had many
hair-breadth escapes, but none so critical as this. Lost on the
desert, a flock of wild Bedouins, inflamed with rapine and liquor,
had swept down upon him with shrill cries. He fought against
terrible odds as long as he could, then, just as a lance head had
pierced him, a horseman had ridden down like the wind, and with

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

265

a ringing English cheer had laid about him, right and left, like a
lion. Wherever that flashing blade fell, an Arab bit the dust.
Then, faint and sick from loss of blood, he reeled from the
saddle, and opened his eyes in his own quarters in Algiers.

" And the gallant Englishman who saved you ? " Lady Cecil
breathlessly asked.

Sir Arthur smiled.

"The gallant Englishman was an Irishman. A very tiger to
fight. His name among the Arabs was as great a source of
dread as that of Coeur de Lion to the Saracens, or Black Doug-
las to the Lowland. Hje was a captain of Chasseurs, his name,
O'Donnell."

She was sitting beneath the open window. As he j^ronounced
the name he looked at her, but she had turned suddenly and
was gazing steadfastly at the blue summer sky. He looked at
her, then spoke again, slowly.

"And he knewjF^?/," he said.

"Yes," Lady Cecil's tones had changed a little; but she
turned now, and the brown eyes met the gray ones quite calmly.
"Yes, I did once know a Redmond O'Donnell — six years ago,
I think — in Ireland. He mentioned knov/ing me, did he?"

" By the merest chance. In his quarters one day I came
across a book, a very handsome copy of ' Marmion,' with your
name on the fly-leaf You had lent it to him, it appeared, and
it had never been returned."

" Captain O'Donnell seems fated to save people's lives," said
Lady Cecil, laughing; "he saved mine from drowning. Did
he tell you of it ? No ? That is like his reticence. Are you
aware he is in England ? "

" No ; I am not surprised to hear it, though. He mentioned
casually meaning to go out to America — to New Orleans — for
his sister, and fetch her over, and leave her with their friends in
France. A fine fellow — a brave fellow — a worthy descendant
of his once princely house."

Lady Cecil said nothing, but that night at parting she gave
Sir Arthur her hand with a kindly cordiality she had never shown
before.

" He grows on one," she said, thoughtfully, to her cousin.
" I begin to like him."

Ginevra shrugged her shoulders.

" So much the better, dear, for all concerned. Thirty thou-
sand a year is a powerful inducement, I must confess ; though
he doesn't grow on me. He's a prig, as I said before — a sol-
12

266

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

emn pedantic prig — who glowers one out of countenance with
his great, solemn, ov/1 eyes, and who can neither dance nor
play croquet, who doesn't know one game on the cards, and
who invariably treads on one's train. I hate clumsy men, and
I'm afraid I shall hate my future cousin-in-law."

The solemn, owl eyes Lady Dangerfield spoke of irritated
her beyond measure by the way in which they watched her an-
imated flirtation with Major Frankland. A flirting married
woman was an anomaly the tall Cornish baronet could in no
wise understand. On this point he was more savagely unciv-
ilized than even Lady Cecil herself. His dark eyes looked in
grave wonder and disapprobation at what went on before them
— Major Frankland making love h la mode to Lady Danger-
field, while Lady Dangerfield' s husband either shut himself up
in his study with his friends, the black beetles, or else glared in
impotent jealous wrath at his wife and her attendant cavalier.

He and Lady Cecil had grown friends surely and impercep-
tibly. They were a .great deal together, and the noble brow of
my Earl of Ruysland began to clear. Cecil knew what she
was about, of course ; she wasn't going to fall at his feet the
instant he arrived j if he were a true knight he would be willing
to woo and win so fair a lady. With her charming face to
plead her cause, his charming fortune to plead his, there could
be no manner of doubt as to the issue.

Sir Arthur, Lady Cecil, the earl, and a young lady in apple-
green muslin went together in the barouche. Lady Danger-
field drove Major Frankland in her pony phaeton. The rest*
of the young ladies followed in a second barouche, wi(h two
cavaliers on horseback. The only married lady of the party-
being the baronet's wife — who played chaperone and propri-
ety ! Sir Peter had discovered a new specimen of the Saturina
Pavonia Major, and did not go.

It was an intensely hot day, the sun pouring down its fiery
heat from a sky as deeply blue as that of Italy — the heat quiv-
ering in a white mist over the sea. Not a breath of air stirred ;
the sea lay asleep, one vast polished lake, under that globe of
molten gold.

" I knew we would grill to death — I said so," Lady Cecil
remarked; "but where is the use of warning Ginevra when
she is bent upon anything. The three children survived the
Fiery Furnace, and we may survive this, but I doubt it."

"Don't be so plaintive, Queenie," her father interposed;
" you'll survive, I dare say, but you won't have a shred of com-

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

267

plexion left. You blonde women never can stand sunshine.
Now Ginevra is the happy possessor of a complexion which
all the suns of Equatorial Africa couldn't darken or spoil.
Seeing," sotto voce, "that it's made up of Blanc de Perle
and liquid rouge."

" It is warm," Sir Arthur remarked, looking at the fair lily-
face beside him ; " and there is not a tree, ixor a shrub even, to
ward it off. Suppose we go in search of verdure and shade, as
we used to do in the Great Desert. My traveler's instinct
tells me there is an oasis not far off."

" Yes ; go by all means, Queenie," murmured the earl :
" and when you have found that oasis send me back word, and
I'll join you. At present I am reduced to that state in which
a man's brain feels like melted butter, and each limb several
tons weight. I shall lie down here on the sand and compose
myself to balmy slumber."

Sir Arthur proffered his arm — Lady Cecil took it. The pic-
nic party were pretty well dispersed by this time. Ginevra
and the major and one of the rector's daughters had put off to
sea in a little boat ; Squire Talbot was making himself agreea-
ble to the young lady in apple-green muslin ; the rest had
paired off like the procession of animals in a child's Noah's
Ark. As well go on an exploring expedition with Sir Arthur
as remain there to watch the slumbers of the author of her be-
ing; and so the Cornish baronet and the earl's daughter
started in search of the oasis.

It was not unpleasant being alone with Sir Arthur. In com-
pany, as a rule, he had nothing whatever to say ; society small-
talk was as Greek to him ; the new styles, the latest fashiona-
ble novel, the last prima donna or danseuse — all these topics
were Sanscrit to him, or thereabout. But alone with an appre-
ciative listener, he could talk, and talk well — not of his travels
alone — on all subjects. He spoke of things high above the
reach of most of the men she had met, and Lady Cecil being a
young lady of very fair intellect, as the female intellect goes,
appreciated him, was interested, delighted, quite breathless in-
deed in her absorption at times.

They had gone on now for nearly a mile — very slowly, of
course, with the mid-day thermometer at that ridiculous height
in the shade, where shade there was none. He was telling her
of a frightful gorilla hunt he had once had in Africa, and just at
the moment when the climax was reached when the gorilla

268

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

came in sight, and T.ady Cecil's eyes and lips were apart, and
breathless, he stopped as if he had been shot.

''Lady Cecil," he cried, " it is going to rain." Patter ! one
great drop, the size of a pea, fell splash on Lady Cecil's startled,
upturned face. The sun still shone dazzlingly, but a huge
black thunder cloud had gathered over their heads, threatening
instant explosion.

Plump came another great drop on Lady Cecil's pink silk
and white lace x^arasol. Oh, such a flimsy shield from a rain
storm, and Lady Cecil's Paris hat had cost ten guineas only
the week before, and Lady Cecil's summer dress was of Swiss
muslin and lace, and her bronze slippers with their gay rosettes,
delightful for dry sand and sunshine, but not to be thought of
in connection with a summer shower.

" What shall we do ? " she exclaimed. " I don't mind get-
ting my death of cold in a drenching, but to go back and face
the rest, sheltered, no doubt, by the carriages, — all dripping
and drowned — no. Sir Arthur, I can't do that."

Sir Arthur had been scanning the horizon with eagle glance.

" I see a house," he said ; " at least I see a taJl chimney,
and where there' is a chimney there must be shelter. Let us
make for it, Lady Cecil — we can reach it in five minutes, if we
run. Can you run ? "

" Certainly I can run," answered La Reiiie Blanche. " What
a question for you to ask, of all people, as though you didn't
stand and laugh at me the afternoon you arrived, romping like
a lunatic with Ginevra's children. Oh, dear ! how fast the •
drops are coming. Now, then. Sir Arthur — a fair field and no
favor ! "

And then, with her clear, merry laugh, the haughty, hand-
some belle of last season gathered up her flowing, flimsy skirts,
bowed her bright head, and sped away like a deer before the
storm. Sir Arthur ran, too ; one may be never so dignified,
and yet scamper for their lives before a thunder storm. And
Lady Cecil laughed, and Sir Arthur laughed, and faster, faster,
faster, fell the light black drops, and twenty years of ordinary
acquaintance could not have brought them so near together as
that hour. On and on, faster and yet faster, the rain pursuing
them like an avenging fury, a great peal of thunder booming
above their heads. Blacker and bigger that great cloud grows ;
patter, patter, falls the rain ; it will be down in torrents di-
rectly. There is a flash blindingly bright, and then — Heaven
be praised ! — the tall chimney is reached, and it proves to be a

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

269

house ! Sir Arthur flings wide the gate, and they sknrry into
the garden, thickly sheltered by fir-trees, and pause at last, wet,
panting breathlessly, laughing, and look into each other's flushed
faces.

" I knew I could beat you, Sir Arthur/' is the first thing
Lady Cecil says, as well as she can for her throbbing heart-
beats. " Oh, what a race ! And my poor parasol, and my
lovely hat — spoiled ! I can't see anything to laugh at, Sir
Arthur — it was a beauty, though you mayn't have had soul
enough to appreciate it. And my slippers — see ! "

She held out one slim foot — oh, Queenie, was it coquetry?
— and the beautiful bronze slippers, the gay little rosettes, were
ruined. " And your feet are wet," Sir Arthur exclaimed ;
" that is worst of all. And there is danger under these trees, in
this lightning. We must make for the house. What place is
this ? "

" I don't know. A most dismal and gruesome place, at
least. Good gracious ! what a flash ; and — oh, Heavens ! Sir
Arthur, did you see that ? "

She gave a little scream and caught his arm.

He followed her eye — to the front windows of the house —
just in time to catch a glimpse of a woman's face as she pulled
some one hastily away from the panes.

That woman ! do you know her ? " he asked.

But Lady Cecil stood like one struck dumb, gazing with all
her eyes.

" Do you know her ? " he repeated in surprise.
" It is — it is — it is — Miss Herncastle ! "
" Well, and who is Miss Herncastle ? Does she live
here ? "

"Live here?" She looked at him. "It is Ginevra's
governess. And that other face — that awful, gibbering, mouth-
ing face she drew away. Ugh ! " she shuddered and drew
closer to him. "You did not look in time to see it, but — of
all the woeful, unearthly faces, — and then Miss Herncastle
came and dragged it away. Now what in the wide world
brings her here ? "

"Suppose we go up to the house and investigate. Are you
aware you are growing wetter every instant? Now, Lady
Cecil, another race."

They fled through the rain — coming down in buckets full by
this time — to the house, and into the low stone porch. Crash
went Sir Arthur's thunder on the panels. The door .yielded to

2/0

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE,

that tremendous knock and flew open, and they stood face to
face with a tall, gaunt, grim old woman.

" I beg your pardon, ma'am," the baronet said ; " I didn't
mean to force an entrance in this way. We got caught in the
storm, and fled here for shelter. Will you permit this lady to
enter ? "

"As you've bust the door open a' ready, I suppose you may,"
retorted the old woman, in no very hospitable tone, and cast-
ing no very hospitable glance on the two intruders. " Come in
if you like, and sit down."

She pointed to a couple of wooden chairs, then went out of
the room, and upstairs. And then there came from down
those stairs a long, low, wailing cry, so wild, so unearthly, so
full of infinite misery, that Lady Cecil, with a second cry of
alarm, caught hold of the baronet's arm and looked at him with
terrified eyes.

" Did you hear that ? " she gasped.

Yes, Sir Arthur had heard it — rather discomposed himself.
He held her hand and listened. Would that weird cry be re-
newed ? No ; a heavy door slammed above, then perfect si-
lence fell.

" Let us leave this horrid house and that harsh-looking old
woman," exclaimed Lady Cecil. "I believe the place, what-
ever else it may be, is uncanny. Of two evils I prefer the
rain."

"The rain is by no means the lesser evil of the two. I fear
I must be arbitrary, my dear Lady Cecil, and insist upon your
remaining at least ten minutes longer. By that time the light-
ning and rain will ha.ve ceased. That was a strange cry — it
sounded like one in great pain."

The door re-opened and the old woman re-entered. She
glanced suspiciously at the lady and gentleman seated by the.
window.

" I hope my raven didn't frighten the young lady," she said ;
"he do scream out most unearthly. That was him you heard
just now."

She looked at them again, as though to see whether this
statement was too much for their credulity.
Sir Arthur smiled.

" It did startle us a little, I confess. Your raven has a
most lugubrious voice, my good woman. Will you tell us the
name of this place ? "

"It be Bracken Hollow."

SOMETHING VERY STRANGE.

271

" Bracken Hollow," Lady Cecil repeated the name in a still
more startled voice.

She had her wish then sooner than she had expected — she
was in Sir Peter's haunted house.

''Ay, your ladyship, Bracken Hollow, a main and lonesome
place — main and lonesome. Ye will have heard of it, maybe.
Ye' re from the Park beyond now, I'll lay ?"

"Yes, we're from the Park. Do you live here in this lonely ,
place quite by yourself ? "

" Not quite, your ladyship ; alone most of the time, but odd
days a young woman from the town comes to help me redd up.
Ye will hev seen her, mayhap, at the upper window as ye came
in?" ^

Again she looked searchingly, anxiously, it seemed to the
baronet. He hastened kindly to reassure her.

" We did catch a glimpse of a face for a second at one of the
upper windows. I suppose you are rarely intruded upon here
as we intruded upon you just now ? "

"Ay, rarely, rarely. I mind once" — she rocked herself to
and fro and looked dreamily before her — "I mind just once
afore a young couple got ketched in the rain as ye did, and
came here shelter. That was six years ago — six long years ago
— and there's been many sad and heavy changes since then.
He was rare an' handsome that day, and she — oh, it's a queer
world — a queer world."

"Lady Cecil, the rain has ceased — I think we may venture
forth now. Good-day to you, madame, and thanks for the
shelter your roof has afforded."

He laid a sovereign in her skinny hand. She arose, dropped
him a curtsey and watched him out of sight.

" A fine gentleman and free with his money, and she — ah,
it's a beautiful face, and it's a proud face, but there's always
trouble in store for them as carries their heads so high, and
them haughty eyes always sheds most tears. A fine gentleman
and a beautiful lady, but there's trouble in store for them —
trouble, trouble."

272

«« THERE IS MANY A SLIP,'' ETC,

CHAPTER VII.

THERE IS MANY A SLIP," ETC.

ADY CECIL'S wet feet were considerably wetter before
she reached the picnic party on the sand. But there
was no help for it, and she laughed good-naturedly at
all Sir Arthur's anxious predictions of future colds.
" Mishaps and misadventures, rain-storms and general de-
moralization of one's raiment, are what one inevitably expects
at picnics. It is in the nature of things for lightning storms to
come up in the midst of all pleasure excursions. I wonder if
the carriages safely protected those we left behind ; and above
all, I hope Ginevra and her party were not out in that fairy
bark of theirs when the squall arose."

But they were. Two hours had elapsed between Sir Arthur
and Lady Cecil leaving the pleasure party and their return,
and during those two hours dire misfortunes had befallen. The
whole picnic party were assembled in one excited group as the
two wanderers came up in their midst — the major, Lady Dan-
gerfield, and the rector's daughter, dripping from head to foot
like a triad of sea deities. Lady Cecil gave a gasp.
*' Sir Arthur ! Look here ! the boat has upset ! "
The boat had. Lady Dangerfield, excitedly and eloquently
poured out the tale of their hair-breadth escape as they ap-
proached.

They were a mile-and-a-half or thereabouts from the shore
when the thunder-storm had so swiftly arisen, and they had
turned and put back at once. But before they had gone ten
yards, either owing to the major's mismanagement, or the sud-
den striking of the squall, away went the little boat, keel up-
permost, and down into the ruffled sea, with ringing shrieks of
affright, went the two ladies and their mihtary protector. The
major could swim — so could Miss Hallan, the rector's daugh-
ter. Flinging one arm about Lady Dangerfield the major
struck out for the shore, but an awful panic had seized the
baronet's wife ; sudden death stared her in the face, and all
presence of mind deserted her. She struggled in the major's
clasp, clinging to him the while, and shrieking frantically. In
vain the major implored and entreated. " For Heaven's sake,
Ginevra, be still and T v/ill save you." In vain the affrighted

" THERE TS MANY A SLIP,'' ETC.

party on the shore, forgetful of rain now descending in floods,
added their shouted prayers to hers. In vain ! Lady Danger-
field screamed and struggled, and the ]jicnic party was in a fair
way of winding up with a tragedy, when a boat skimming like
a bird over the dancing waters, and skillfully handled by one
man, shot toward them, swift and straight as an arrow.

" Hold on there," a voice from the boat shouted. " You'll
go down to a dead certainty if you plunge about like that much
longer."

The boat flew nearer. The man leaned over and picked up
my lady. Major Frankland scrambled in after.

" Rather a close finish ! " their deliverer said, coolly. You
were doing your best to make the bottom. Are you all right
there, sir } Took after the lady, will you ? I think she is go-
ing to faint."

But Lady Dangerfield did not faint — too much cold water,
perhaps. She glanced at her preserver, and noticed, even in
that moment, that he was one of the very handsoniest men it
had ever been her good fortune to behold. She glanced at
herself. Good Heaven ! half the exquisite abundance of curls
and braids she had set forth with tliat morning were miles out
at sea, her complexion was a wretched ruin, and her lovely
pink grenadine, in which she had looked not a day over twenty-
five one short hour ago — that pink grenadine, all puffings, and
friUings, and flounces — no, words are poor and weak to de-
scribe the state of that dress.

The boat, flying before the rising wind, made the shore in
five minutes. Lady Dangerfield had not spoken one word ;
tears of shame and m.ortification were standing in her eyes.
Why, oh, why, had she ever come on this wretched trip — this
miserable picnic, at all.^* What business had Major Frankland
to propose going out in a boat when he wasn't capable of
handling a boat ? What a fright she must look — hatless, hair-
less, comparatively complexionless, and her bright, gossamer
summer skirts chnging about her like wet leeches? What
must this remarkably good-looking and self-possessed gentle-
man sitting yonder steering, think of her ? He was not think-
ing of her at all ; he was watching, with an amused face. Miss
Hallan calmly and deliberately swimming ashore, and all the
other people standing hke martyrs in the rain.

"Now, then, madam!" He sprang out and almost lifted
her on the sands. " Very sorry for your mishap, and if I might
presume to offer a suggestion, would recommend an instant
13*

274 " THERE IS MANY A SLIP;' ETC.

return home and a change of garments. Good-day, sir ; your
boat's all right — floating ashore."

And then this cool gentleman, without waiting for thanks or
further ado, pushed off again, and skimmed away like a seagull.

Such a plight as this pleasure party stood in when Sir Arthur
and Lady Cecil rejoined them ! Wet through, all their fine
feathers spoiled — every one of the ladies in as miserable a
plight as the shipwrecked party themselves — every one
drenched to the skin. Lady Cecil's dark eyes, full of sup-
pressed fun, were lifted to the baronet's ; there was a grave
smile even at the corners of his sedate mouth. It was won-
derful how they understood each other, and how much nearer
they were then than they had been that morning.

Of course .the picnic broke up in most admired disorder "
and at once. The wet mermaids were packed damp and
dripping into the carriages and whirled away to Scarswood as
fast as the horses could trot the distance, Lady Dangerfield be-
wailing her fate, her narrow escape for her hfe, and anon won-
dering who her preserver could be.

" He had the air of a military man," she said ; there was
no mistaking it ; and he was bronzed and bearded, and some-
what foreign-looking. A gentleman, beyond a shadow of a
doubt, with a bow of a Lord Chesterfield or a court chamber-
lain, and the whitest teeth I ever saw."

It was evident Major Frankland had a rival.

" I wish I had asked his name, and invited him to call," my
lady went on. " Common courtesy required it, but really I
was so confused and frightened, and all the rest of it, that I
thought of nothing. Abominable in Jasper Frankland to let
the boat upset. I'll never forgive him. What could that stran-
ger have thought of me — such a horrible fright as I must look."

"My dear Ginevra, does it m2X\.tx'what this stranger thinks ?
We are all grateful to him for coming to your rescue so oppor-
tunely, but as to his good opinion, I don't perceive that that
is a matter of consequence one' way or the other."

One doesn't want to look like a scarecrow," returned her
ladyship, indignantly, even before strangers ; and he was so
distinguished looking, and had the finest eyes, Queenie. Per-
haps he may be one of the officers from the Castleford bar-
racks."

" I thought we had had all the officers from the Castleford,
and if any of them are eminently distinguished-looking, I have
hitherto failed to perceive it."

«* THERE IS MANY A SLIP;' ETC,

275

" We might have had him over for our theatricals to-morrow
night, if I had only had presence of mind enough to ask his
name. But how can one have presence of mind when one is
drowning? And to lose my hat and my — my chignon, and
everything ! Queenie, how is it that you have escaped so com-
pletely ? Where did Sir Arthur take you ? "

To Bracken Hollow. We were caught in the first of the
storm, and had to run for it. Such a race ! Even Sir Arthur
Tregenna, the most dignified of mankind, does not look digni-
fied, scampering away from a rain-storm."

Lady Cecil laughed maliciously. It does people good to
come down off their stilts once in a while, and put their high
and — mightiness in their pocket. Really, it has been a day of
extraordinary adventures altogether."

"Yes," said Lady Dangerfield crossly ; "and adventures are
much nicer to read of than to take part in. I don't want ad-
ventures out of Mudie's select novels."

" A day of adventures," went on Lady Cecil, laughing. " You
get upset in the midst of the raging ocean, lightning flashing,
thunder crashing, rain falling — and what rhymes to falling, Gin-
evra, besides bawling ? And at the last moment, up rushes the
gallant knight to the rescue, handsome, of course, gentlemanly
also, mihtary likewise, and with the bow of — a court chamber-
lain, I think you said ? And for me, my knight takes me into
the Haunted Castle, and we hear and see the ghost of Bracken
Hollow."

" Oh, Sir Arthur is your knight then, is he ? " interrupted her
ladyship sarcastically. " I thought it would come to that in the
end. We don't refuse thirty thousand a year, do v/e, Queenie,
darHng, in spite of all our fine poetical, cynical talk of buying
and selling. And what Bracken Hollow ? And what ghost ? "

" Wltat Bracken Hollow ! There's only one, and your hus-
band says it's haunted. I suppose he ought to know ; he seems
an authority on the subject of gobUns and ghosts. Of my own
knowledge, I can say it is as dismal and dull a looking place as
ever I laid eyes on — in the words of the poet, ' A lonesome
lodge that stands so low in lonely glen.' And a grim and som-
ber old woman—a sort of Sussex ' Norna of the Fitful Head ' —
presides over it. And at an upper window we saw a most
ghostly face, and from an upper chamber we heard a most ghostly
cry. ' Norna of the Fitful Head ' accounted for it in some way
about a raven and a country girl ; but I don't think she expected
us to believe it. And then I am sure— certain— I saw — "

" THERE IS MANY A SLTP;' ETC.

But Lady Cecil paused. Why should she create an unpleas-
antness between the governess and Lady Dangerfield by telling
of seeing her there ? That there was no mistake she was con-
vinced. Miss Herncastle's was not a face to be mistaken any-
where— not at all the sort of face we mean when we say " it
will pass in a crowd." Most people in any crowd would have
turned to look twice at the very striking face of my lady's
nursery governess.

Lady Cecil went up to her room at once, and rang for her
maid. In her damp dress she stood before the open window
while she waited, and looking down she saw, immediately be-
neath her, in the rose garden. Miss Herncastle ! Miss Hern-
castle, calm, composed, pale, grave, lady-like, and looking, with
her neatly arranged dress and serene manner, as though she had
been there for hours, the last person possible to be guilty of any
escapade whatever. She looked up, smiled, bowed, turned
slowly, and disappeared down a lime walk.

Lady Cecil stood transfixed. What did it mean? Miss
Herncastle looked a very clever person, but she was not clever
enough, surely, to be in two places at once. That was Miss
Herncastle she had seen at Bracken Hollow less than an hour
ago, and now Miss Herncastle was here. She could not have
walked the distance in the time — she could not have ridden.
And if it wasn't Miss Herncastle, who then was it she had
seen?

*'0h, nonsense!" Lady Cecil cried, tapping her slippered
foot impatiently. ''I know better. It was Miss Herncastle.
Desiree," to her maid. " I see Miss Herncastle down there.
How long is it since she came in ? "

"Came in," Desiree repeated, opening her brown French
eyes. "But, mademoiselle, Mees Herncastle wasn't out at all.
She has been in the school-room with her young ladies."

" Are you siire^ Desiree ? "

" Yes, mademoiselle," Desiree was sure. That is— she had
been in the servants' hall herself, and not in the grounds, but of
course Miss Herncastle —

" That will do, Desiree. You pull my hair when you brush
and talk together. Make haste ! "

Desiree made haste, ar. J in fresh slippers and rosettes, fresh
organdie and ribbons. Lady Cecil tripped away to the school-
room. Pearl and Pansy were there, making houses of cards.
Down went the cards, and the twins surrounded Aunt Cecil
immediately.

" THERE IS MANY A SLIP,'' ETC.

277

"Did she see the Hghtning — oh, wasn't it awful? And the
thunder — wasn't she frightened ? They were. They went up
to the nursery and crept into bed, and pulled the clothes over
their faces — and never spoke till it was all over."

A very praiseworthy precaution, my pets. And where, all
this time, was Miss Herncastle ? "

" Oh, Miss Herncastle — poor Miss Herncastle — had such a
headache, and had to go to bed, and they were so glad. Not
for the headache, of course — they were sorry for poor Miss
Herncastle — but glad that they had had a holiday. And that
other dress for Seraphina — Seraphina was the biggest of the
dolls — " when would Aunt Cecil make that ? "

" To-morrow, if possible. And so Miss Herncastle had a
bad headache and had to go to bed. Hum-m-m. When did
she take it ? "

" Oh, right after you all went away. And she went up to her
room with some vinegar, and pulled down the blinds, and locked
the door, and told Mrs. Butler she would try to sleep it off.
She got up just before you came home — I saw her come out of
her room and go down to the garden."

The door opened and Miss Herncastle came in, her roses
and myrtle in her hand. She bowed to Lady Cecil with a slight
smile, crossed the room with easy grace, and placed her bouquet
in a Parian vase.

" I regret to hear you have been suffering from a severe head-
ache all day. Miss Herncastle," Lady Cecil said, and the amber-
clear brown eyes fixed themselves full upon the face of the
governess. " Pansy tells me you have been lying down all day.
But for that I should positively think it was your face I saw at
a window of the house in Bracken Hollow."

The face of the governess turned from the flowers over
which she was bending — the deep gray eyes met the searching
brown ones steadily.

" Thought you saw me, Lady Cecil ! How very strange.
And Bracken Hollow — where is Bracken Hollow ?"

" Bracken Hollow is within easy walking distance of Scars-
wood, Miss Herncastle : and you are right, it is very strange.
I was positive it was you I saw."

" You were mistaken, of course," the governess said, calmly ;
" it seems my fate to be mistaken. I had a headache, as
Pansy says, and was obliged to go to my room. I am unfortu-
nately subject to bad nervous headaches."

Her face was perfectly calm — not a tremor, not a flinch of

2/8

" THERE TS MANY A SLIP^' ETC,

eye or muscle. And again Lady Ceeil was staggered. Surely
this was truth or most perfect acting. If Miss Herncastle had
spent the day in her own room she could not have spent it at
Bracken Hollow. And if it were not Miss Herncastle she had
seen, who on earth then was it ?

Thoroughly mystified, the earl's daughter descended the stairs.
In the vestibule sat the hall porter, the Casileford Chronicle in
his hand, his gaze meditatively fixed on the rainbow spanning
the sky.

" Johnson, have you been here all day — all day, mind ? "

Johnson turned from the rainbow and made a bow.

"Yes, my lady — which I meanter say my lady hexcepting of
corse while I was at dinner — all the rest of the day, my lady."

"And did any one leave the house during our absence ? —
any one — the children — the servants?"

"No, my lady," Mr. Johnson responded, rather surprised,
''not that / see, my lady. And it would be himpossible for
hanny one to come, without my seeing, my lady. The young
ladies, they wasn't on the grounds all day, my lady, likewise
none of the servants. Mrs. Butler she were a-making hup
long haccounts in her hown room, and Miss 'Erncastle she were
a layin' down with the 'eadache, my lady. And there wern't no
callers, my lady."

Lady Cecil turned away with a dazed look. She had no
wish to play the spy upon Miss Herncastle. If she had been
to Bracken Hollpw, and had owned to it. Lady Cecil might
have wondered a little, but she would have said nothing about
it. She said nothing about it as it was, but she puzzled over
it all the evening. The picnic party, rejuvenated, dined at
Scarswood. Sir Peter left the Saturnia Favonia, and dined
with his guests — my lady's rather ; and my lady herself, in fresh
raven ringlets, fresh bloom, and fresh robe of gold-colored
tissue and white roses, looked as pretty and as animated as
though ten pounds' sterling worth of tresses had not drifted out
to sea, and a lovely new toilet had been utterly ruined.

" I wish I had thought of asking him his name," Lady Dan-
gerfield remarked, over and over again, returning to the Un-
known. "A gentleman, I am positive — there is no mistaking
the air of society ; and an officer ; I should know a trooper in
the pulpit or in his coffin, there is no mistaking their swing.
And he had the most expressive eyes I think I ever saw."

" Your close observation does him much honor," said Major
Frankiand with suppressed jealousy. " He is, in all probabil-

" THERE TS MANY A SLIP;' ETC.

279

ity, some wandering tourist, or artist unknown to fame and
Trafalgar Square. It would be cruel, I suppose, to hint at his
being a commercial traveller, down from the metropolis with
his samples."

"Gad ! he looked like some one I've met before," muttered
the earl, glancing uneasily at his daughter. He was in Lon-
don the night of the opera, and it is just possible he may have
followed us down here. Only that it would not be like him —
proud as Lucifer he used to be \ and then I should think, too,
he had got over the old madness. Did you see this unknown
knight-errant, Queenie?"

"I? No, papa; it was all over before we came up. The
curtain had fallen on the grand sensational tableau, the hero
of the piece had fled; Sir Arthur and I were only in time for
the farce."

The earl stroked his iron-gray mustache, reassured.

"If it be O'Donnell, and 'pon my life I think it is, I only
hope Sir Arthur may speak before he appears again on the
scene. Not that she cares for him, of course, or that his ap-
pearance will make any difference in the result. It was only
a girl's, only a child's fancy — and it is six years ago. What
woman ever remembered an absent lover six years ? — a hus-
band for that matter ? They say Penelope did ; but we have
only their word for it. I dare say, while Ulysses was flirting
on that island with Queen Calypso and Miss Eucharis, she was
flirting at home, and looking out for his suc(;essor. The only
unpleasant thing about it will be, if they discover the little
counterplot / indulged in at that time. It's odd Sir Arthur
don't propose. He is greatly taken with her, that is evident,
and though she doesn't encourage him, she is friendly enough."

Sir Arthur was taken with her. His eyes followed that
fairy, graceful figure everywhere ; he stood by the piano while
she sang, and she sang very sweetly, his eyes on the perfect
face, his ear drinking in these silver sounds. He v/as at his
ease with her ; he talked to her as he had never talked to any
woman in his life ; she was fair and good, lovely and gentle.
Why should he not make her his wife? If that exquisite
flower-face of hers had wrought dire havoc ere now with the
too-susceptible hearts, was she" to be blamed ? She might not
be quite his ideal, perhaps — but which of us ever meets or
marries our ideal ? — and he liked her very well — very well, and
admired her greatly. . Why not speak, then, and ask her to be
his wife?

28o

« THERE IS MANY A SLIP,'' ETC.

He resolved this question in bed tliat night until he fell
asleep. Of love, such as he had heard of and read of — that
intermittent fever of cold fits and hot fits, of fear, of hope, of
jealousy, of delight — he knew nothing. That mad fever into
which common-sense never enters isn't a dignified passion ; a
man on his knees to a woman, calling upon all the gods to witness
how he worshiped her, is not an elevating or majestic sight.
He was not a lover of the usual hot-headed, hare-brained sort,
all wearing the same bright armor, all singing the same sweet
song. Bat he esteemed, and admired, and liked Lady Cecil.
She was his equal in every way, save fortune, and that he
neither thought of nor cared for, and the very next day that
ever shone he would ask her to be his wife.

For Sir Arthur Tregenha to resolve was to do. He was
none of your vacillating lovers, who don't know their own
minds, and who are afraid to speak when they do. Without
being in the least a coxcomb, he felt pretty sure of his answer.
Her father wished it, she did not seem at least to dislike him,
and as husband and wife they would learn to love each other,
no doubt, very dearly. His eyes followed her that day as they
had never followed her before — with a new interest, a new ten-
derness. And Lady Dangerfield's sharp black eyes saw it as
they saw everything.

"Thine hour has come, oh, Queenie," she laughed mali-
ciously. " The grand mogul has made up his mind to fling his
handkerchief at his slave's feet. Look your loveliest to-night,
La Reiiie BlancJie^ for the great Cornish baronet is going to
lay his title and fortune at your feet."

The color flashed hotly for a moment over the exquisite,
drooping face — a flush of pain, of almost dread. Her woman's
instinct told her also, as well as Ginevra, that Ginevra was
right. He was going to ask her to be his wife, and she — what
should she say ? What could she say but yes ? It was her
destiny as fixed as the stars. A sort of panic seized her. She
did not love him, not one whit, and Lady Cecil Clive at two-
and-twenty — old enough to know better, certainly, and admir-
ably trained by a thorough woman of the world — a woman of
the Vv'orld herself — out three seasons — believed in love !

I am pained to tell, but the truth stands— she believed in
love. She read De Masset, and Meredith, and T^ nnyson — she
even read Byron sometimes. She liked him — as she might a
grave, wise, very much elder brother, but love him — no — no —
no !

" THERE rs MANY A SLIP," ETC,

281

And Lady Cecil knew what love meant. Once, oh, how
long ago it seemed ! for seven golden weeks the sun had shone,
and the roses flamed in the Hght. Earth had been Eden, and
the Someone that we all see a day or two in our lifetime had ap-
peared before her, and then — the seven weeks ended, and life's
dead level flowed back. That dream of sweet sixteen was
ended, and well nigh forgotten, it might be ; but she didn't
care for Sir Arthur Tregenna, and he was going to ask her, and
there was nothing to say but "Yes."

She avoided him all that day, as she had never avoided him
before in all her life. If her chains were to be clasped, at
least she would avert the fetters as long as she could. She
shut herself up in her room, took a book, and forced herself to
read. She would not think, she would not come down. It
had to be, but at least she would have a respite in spite of
them all.

The lovely, rosy July day wore on, and dinner time came.
She had to go down then. As Owen Meredith says :

"We may live without books — what is knowledge but grieving?
We may live without hope — what is hope but deceiving ?
We may live without love — ^what is passion but pining ?
But where is the man that can live without dining ? "

Her respite was over. She must face her doom. She went
down in white silk and pearls. There was to be an evening
party — theatricals, charades, dancing — a large company were
coming. She was as white as her dress, but perfectly calm.
They were ever a brave race, the Olives, going to the scaffold
or to the altar without wincing once.

Sir Arthur took her in to dinner — gentlemen never know when
they are not Avanted. He was very silent during that meal,
but then silence was his forte. Lady Cecil, usually the bright-
est of the bright, was under a cloud too. She cast furtive,
sidelong glances at her companion. Oh, her doom was sealed
-- that compressed mouth, that stern face, those grave, inexor-
able eyes told the story. Do her best, she could not shirk
fatality long.

She made her escape after dinner, unnoticed, as she fondly
hoped, amid the gay throng. A bright little boudoir, all rose
silk and ormolu, and cabinet pictures, opened off one of the
drawing-rooms, double doors and a velvet curtain shutting it
in. Thither this stricken deer fled. The double doors slid
back, the rose velvet curtain fell, and she was alone, amid the
pictures and the bric-a-brac, with the crystal moonrays.

282

REDMOND O'DONNELL,

She sank down in a dormeiise in the bay window, drew a
great breath of relief, and looked out. How peaceful it was,
how sweet, how hushed, how lonely. Oh, why couldn't life be
cast in some blissful Arcadian valley, where existence might be
one long succession of ruby sunsets and silver moonrises, where
nightingales sing the world to sleep, where young ladies need
never get married at all if they like, and thirty thousand a year
is not a necessity of life ? She clasped her hands, and looked
up almost passionately at that bright opal-tinted star-set sky.

Oh !" she said, ^' I wish, I wish, I wish^ I need not marry
Sir Arthur Tregenna."

" Lady Cecil, I beg your pardon for this intrusion, but they
have sent me here to find you."

Her clasped hands fell — her hour had come. Sir Arthur
stood tall and serious before her. She looked up, all her ter-
ror, all her helpless appeal for an instant in her large, soulful
eyes. But he did not read it aright — what man ever does ?
And he came forward hastily, eagerly. How beautiful she
looked, how noble, how sweet, — a wife for any man to be
proud of. He stooped over her and took her hand. The
words were on his lips — in one minute all would be over !

" Lady Cecil," he began. I have sought you here to — "

He never finished the sentence.

The door slid back, the curtain was lifted, and Miss Hern-
castle came into the room.

CHAPTER VIII.

REDMOND O'DONNELL.

ITH the golden blaze of the illuminated drawing-room
behind her, with rose-velvet curtains half draping her,
the moonlight full upon her pale face and jet black
hair — so for one second she stood before them. So
Sir Arthur Tregenna saw her first, so in her sleeping and waking
dreams all her life long, Cecil Clive remembered her, standing
like some rose-draped statue in the arch.

" Lady Cecil," began the soft, slow legato voice, Lady
Dangerfield has sent me in search — " She broke off suddenly ;

REDMOND aDONNELL.

283

she had advanced a step, and for the first time perceived that
Lady Cecil was not alone. I beg your pardon," she said,
" but I was not aware — "

" Wait — wait. Miss Herncastle ! " Lady Cecil exclaimed,
rising up with a great breath of intense relief. Lady Danger-
field sent you in search of me, I suppose? Has "anybody
come ? Are they preparing for the Charades ? "

" Yes, Lady Cecil, and they are waiting for you. There's
the music."

"You play. Sir Arthur, do you not ?" Lady Cecil turned to
him, and then for the first time perceived him gazing intently
at Miss Herncastle. He was wondering who she was — this
tall, majestic woman, so unlike any woman he ha,d as yet met
in this house. " Ah ! I forgot, you don't know Miss Hern-
castle. Sir Arthur Tregenna, Miss Herncastle. How odd to
live in the same house a week and a half, and never once meet.
Hark ! is not that Ginevra's voice calling ?"

" Queenie ! Queenie ! " called the shrill, impatient voice of
her ladyship ; " are you asleep or dead, or in the house, or
what ? Where are you ? "

She too lifted the curtains and stared at the group in indig-
nant surprise.

" What on earth are you all doing here in the moonlight ? Sir
Arthur, I think I sent you after Lady Cecil Clive. Miss Hern-
castle," sharply, "I think I sent j/^z/— . Is there some en-
chantment in this sylvan spot that those who enter it can never
come forth ? "

She looked pointedly at the baronet. Had he had time to
propose ? He was not a man of fluent speech or florid com-
pliment, like her gallant major — he only smiled in his grave
way, and came forth.

Lady Cecil had sped away like the wind already, and Miss
Herncastle, with the stately air and grace of a young queen,
was more slowly following.

" Who is that ? " Sir Arthur asked under his breath.

" Who ? Do you mean Miss Herncastle — my governess ? "

"Your governess ? She looks like an empress."

"Absurdly tall, isn't she ? — half a giantess. Do you like tall
women ? No ; don't trouble yourself to turn a compliment
I see you do. Miss Herncastle is to assist to-night in the tab-
leaux— that is why you see her here."

That old, never-failing resource of country houses, charades
and tableaux vivants were to enliven the guests at Scarswood to-

284

REDMOND O'DONN-ELL.

night. The disused ball-room had been fitted up as a theater,
with stage and seats, the Castleford military band was already
discoursing martial music, and the well-dressed audience, pre-
pared to be delighted with everything, had already taken their
seats. Fans fluttered, an odor as of Araby's spicy breezes was
wafted through the room, a low murmur of conversation min-
gled with the stirring strains of the band, the lamps overhead
twinkled by the dozen, and out through the wide-open windows
you caught the starry night sky, the silver crescent slowly sail-
ing up over the tall tree-tops.

A bell tinkled and the curtain went up. You saw an inn-
yard, a pump and horse trough, artistically true to nature, on
the sign " Scarswood Arms." Enter Boots, (Major Frankland,)
a brash in one hand, a gentleman's Wellington in the other, in
a state of sohloquy. He gives you to understand he is in love
with Susan, the barmaid, and Fanny, the chambermaid ; and
in a quandary which to make Mrs. Boots. Enter Fanny — tall,
dark, dashing — (Miss Hattan, the rector's daughter ;) and some
love passages immediately ensued. Boots is on the point of
proposing to the chambermaid, when there comes a shrill call
for " Fanny," and exit Fanny with a last coquettish toss of her
long black ringlets, a last coquettish flash of her bonny black
eyes. Yes, Boots likes Fanny best — will propose to Fanny,
when enter Susan, the barmaid. Barmaids have been bewitch-
ing from time immemorial — this barmaid is too fascinating to
tell. She is very blonde — with a wig of golden hair, a complex-
ion of paint and pearl powder — a very short skirt of rose silk,
a bodice of black velvet, and a perfectly heart-breaking little
cap of rose-colored ribbon and point-lace. Barmaid costume
the wide world over. Enter Susan (Lady Dangerfield), trip-
ping jauntily forward, bearing a tray of tumblers, and bhthely
singing a little song.

Boots' allegiance is shaken. " 'Tother one was pretty," he
says, " but this one caps the globe. And then she have a
pretty penny in Castleford bank, too." More love passages
take place. Susan is coy, — shrieks and skirmishes. Down
falls the tray, smash goes the glass. Boots must have that kiss
— struggles for it manfully — gets that kiss — (it sounded very
real too) — Susan slaps his face ; — not irretrievably offended,
though, you can see, and — Susan ! Susan," bawls a loud bass
voice. " Coming, ma ! am, coming ! " Susan answers, shakes
her blonde ringlets at gallant Boots, shows her white teeth, and
exit.

REDMOND O'DONNELL,

285

Boots is alone. Boots soliloquizes once more. " How
happy could I be with either, were 'tother dear charuier away."

His quandary has returned — he cannot make up his mind.
If he marries Fanny he will hanker after Susan, if he marries
Susan, he will break his heart for Fanny. " Oh, why can't a
man marry both — both — both ? " Boots asks with a mel-
ancholy howl. He plunges his deeply rouged face into the
snowy folds of a scented cambric handkerchief, and sinks down,
a statue of despair, still feebly murmuring : " Both — both —
both ! " The curtain falls to slow and solemn music. " First
syllable ! " shouts an invisible voice. People put their heads
together, and wonder if the first syllable is not — " Boihr

The bell tinkles, and the curtain goes up again. Tiiis time
it is an Eastern scene. A large painting of an oasis in the
desert is hung in the background. A group of Bedouins hover
aloof in the distance, A huge marble basin filled with gold-fish
occupies the center, and in sandals and turban, an Eastern
dignitary sits near. The Eastern dignitary is Sir Arthur Tre-
genna, his face darkened, his fair hair hidden by his gorgeous
turban. An Eastern damsel approaches, a scarlet sash round
about her waist, her loose hair flowing, her beautiful bare arms
upholding a stone pitcher on her head. She salaams before my
lord the dignitary, lets down her pitcher into the marble well,
and humbly offers my lord to drink. The band plays a march.
" Second syllable !" shouts the invisible voice, and the curtain
goes down.

It rises again — to stirring strains this time — the band plays
" The Gathering of the Clans." You are in " marble halls,"
pillars, curtains — and a great deal of tartan drapery. Enter a
majestic figure in court attire. (Major Frankland again.) His
military legs look to advantage in flesh-colored tights, his mili-
tary figure is striking in velvet doublet, cloak, and rapier, his
military head in a plumed cap. He is a Scotchman, for he
wears a tartan sash, and his plumed cap is a Scotch bonnet.
His mustaches and whiskers are jetty black — his comj)lexion is
bronzed. He is in love again, and soliloquizing — this time in
a very transport of passion. He loves some bright particular star
far above his reach, and apostrophizes her with his rapier in his
hand, and his eyes fixed on the chandelier. Come what may,
sooner or later, he is determined to win her, though his path
to her heart lie through carnage and blood. The major pro-
nounces it '*bel — lud." He gnashes his expensive teeth, and
glares more ferociously than ever at the chandelier. In the

286

REDMOND O' DONNE LL.

distance he espies another court gallant in brave attire, and
more tartan sash. The sight brings forth a perfect howl of jeal-
ous fury. He apostrophizes this distant cavalier as Henry
Stuart, Lord of Darnley, Duke of Albany, and King of Scot-
land." The audience have evidently got among royal com-
pany.

The warlike strains of the band change to a soft, sweet,
Scotch air. In the distance you hear musical feminine laughter
and talking — it comes nearer. A sweet voice is singing — the
Castleford brass band i3lay the accompaniment very low and
sweet. The dark gentleman in the rapier and doublet staggers
back apace, says in a whisper audible all over the room, " 'Tis
she/" The queen approaches with her three Maries. The
sweet voice comes nearer ; you catch the words of the queen's
own song of the Four Maries."

"They reveled through the summer night.
And by day made lance shafts flee.
For Mary Beatoun, Mary Seatoun,
Mary Fleming, and me ! "

and with the last word Mary Stuart enters, her three Maries
behind her.

She looks lovely. It is Lady Cecil Clive, in trailing, jewel-
studded robe of velvet, the little pointed Mary Stuart cap, with
its double row of pearls and a diamond flashing in the center,
stomacher, dotted with seed-pearls, ruffle, enormous farthingale.
She is smihng — she is exquisite — she holds out her hands with
" Ah ! my lord of Bothwell and Hailes, you here, and Ustening
to our poor song ? " The noble doffs his plumed cap, sinks
gracefully down on one knee, and lifts the fair hand to his lips.
Tableau ! Lively music — still very Scotch. " My queen — Za
Reine Blanche^^ he murmurs. The audience applaud. It is
very pretty. Black Bothwell and the White Queen, and the three
Maries striking an attitude in the background.

Of course the word is ^'-Bothwell ;" a child could guess it.

Another charade followed, then came a number of tableaux.
In one of these Miss Herncastle appeared — in only one ;
and then by her own request and at the solicitation of Lady
Cecil. The tableau was " Charlotte Corday and the Friend of
the People." Sir Peter Dangerfield in the role of Marat.

The curtain went up. You saw an elegant apartment, a
bath in the center, and in the bath the bloodthirsty monster
who ruled fair France. A desk is placed across the tub ; he
writes as he sits in his bath ; li^ signs death-warrants by the

REDMOND O'DONNELL.

287

dozen, and gloats with hellish exultation over his work. There
is an altercation without — some one insists upon seeing him.
The door slowly opens, some one slowly enters, the lights go
slowly down, semi-darkness rules the scene, the band plays the
awful music of Don Giovanni before the statue enters. A tall
female jfigure glides in, in a traihng black robe ; she glides slowly
forward — slowly, slowly. Her face, deadly pale, turns to the
audience a moment. Clutched in the folds of that sable, sweep-
ing robe, you see a long, slender, gleaming dagger. The silence
of awe and expectation falls upon the audience. She glides
nearer, nearer ; she lifts the dagger, her pale face awful, venge-
ful in the dim light. The Friend of the People looks up for
the first time, but it is too late. The Avenger is almost upon
him, the gleaming dagger is uplifted to strike. Sir Peter Dan-
gerfield beholds the terrible face of Miss Herncastle ; he sees
the brandished knife, and leaps up with a shriek of terror that
rings through the house. A thrill of horror goes through every
one as the curtain rapidly falls.

" Good Heaven ! she has killed him ! " an excited voice says.

Then the lights flash up, the band crashes out the Guards'
Waltz ; " but for a moment neither lights nor music can over-
come the spell that has fallen upon them.

"Who was that?" everybody asks — "who played Charlotte
Corday?"

And everybody feels a second shock, this time of disappoint-
ment, as the answer is :

" Only Lady Dangerfield's nursery governess."

Behind the scenes the sensation was greater. Pale, affrighted.
Sir Peter had rushed off, and into the midst of the actors.

" Plow dare you send that woman to me?" he cried, trem-
bling with rage and excitement. "Why did you not tell me
that she was selected to play with me ? "

The well-bred crowd stared. Had Sir Peter gone mad?
They looked at Lady Dangerfield, pale with anger and mortifi-
cation— at Lady Cecil, distressed and striving to explain, and
at Miss Herncastle herself — standing calm, motionless, self-
possessed as ever.

They quieted him in some way, but he threw off his Marat
robe and left the assembly in disgust. Miss Herncastle would
have followed, but Lady Cecil, her gentle eyes quite flashing,
forbade it.

"Nonsense, Miss Herncastle ! Because Sir Peter chooses to
be a hysterical goose, is that any reason you should suffer

288

REDMOND O'DQNNELL.

for his folly ? You acted splendidly — splendidly, I say — you
are a born actress. I really thought for a moment you had
stabbed him ! You shall not go up and mope in your room
— you shall stay and see the play played out. Sir Arthur,
amuse Miss Herncastle while I dress for the tableau of Rebecca
and Rowena."

Sir Arthur obeyed with a smile, at the pretty peremptory
command. He was strangely struck with this tall, majestic
young woman, who looked as an exiled queen might, who
spoke in a voice that was as the music of the spheres, and who
was only a nursery governess. She had produced as profound
an impression upon him as upon the others, by her vividly
powerful acting. Charlotte Corday herself could never have
looked one whit more stern and terrible, with the uplifted knife
over the doomed head of the tyrant, than had Miss Herncastle.

Her Majesty, La Reine Blanche, commands but to be
obeyed," he said with a smile. "Permit me to lead you to a
seat, Miss Herncastle, and allow me to indorse Lady Cecil's
words. You are a born actress."

She smiled a little, and accepted his proffered arm. Some
of the ladies shrugged their shoulders and exchanged glances.
A baronet and a governess ! He led her to a seat in the thea-
ter, and remained by her side until the performance ended.

They talked commonplaces, of course — discussed the different
tableaux and the different actors ; and when the last tableau was
applauded and the curtain fell upon the finale, he drew her hand
within his arm once more, and was her escort back to the draw-
ing-room. Dancing followed. As has been said, the baronet
did not dance. He led Miss Herncastle to a seat and took
another beside her. What was it that interested him in her, he
wondered — he was interested, strangely. Not her beauty — she
was in no way beautiful ; not her conversation, for she had. said
very little. But she was clever — he could see that; and what
wonderful eyes she had — bright, deep, solemn. How her soft,
slumbrous accents pleased and lingered on the ear. She was
dressed in white to-night — in dead white, without jewel or ribbon.
Her abundant black hair was braided and twined like a coronet
around her head — in its blackness a cluster of scarlet fuchsias
shone. He had once seen a picture of Semiramis, Queen of
Assyria, in a robe of white, and with blood-red roses wreathing
her black hair. And to-night Miss Herncastle, the nursery gov-
erness, looked like Queen Semiramis.

REDMOND O'DONNELL.

289

She was turning over a book of engravings, and paused over
the first, with a smile on her face.

"What is it?" Sir Arthur asked. "Your engraving seems
to interest you. It is very pretty. What do you call it ? "

" It is * King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid,' and it does
amuse me. Look at the Beggar Maid — see what a charming
short dress she has on ! look at the flowers in her flowing hair !
look at the perfect arms and hands ! What a pity the beggar-
maids of everyday life can't look pretty and picturesque like this !
But then if pictures, and poets, and books represented life as
life really is, the charm would be gone. We can excuse
Cophetua for falling in love with that exquisite Greek profile,
that haughty, high-bred face. Notice how much m.ore elegant
she is than those scandalized ladies-in-waiting in the background.
* This beggar-maid shall be my queen ! ' the enraptured king is
saying, and really for such a face one can almost excuse him."

Sir Arthur smiled.

" Almost excMSt him ! I confess I can't perceive the ' almost.'
Why should he not make her Queen Cophetua, if he wills ?
She is beautiful, and graceful, and young, and good."

*' And a beggar-maid. The beauty of a Venus Celestes, the
grace of a bayadere, the goodness of aft angel, would not coun-
terbalance that. Kingly eagles don't mate with birds of paradise,
be their plumage never so bright. And beggar maids have
Grecian noses, and exquisite hands, and willowy figures in —
pictures, and nowhere else. In real life their noses are of the
genus pug, their fingers stumpy and grimy, their figures stout
and strong, and they talk with a horrid cockney accent and drop
their h's. No, these things happen in a laureate's poems — in
life, never."

" Where did you get your cynicisms. Miss Herncastle ? Who
could have thought a young lady could be so hard and practical ? "

A young lady ! nay, a governess. All the difference in the
world. Sir Arthur. A world all sunshine and coiileiir de rose to
—well — an earl's daughter, say — looks a very gloomy and grue-
some place seen through a governess's green spectacles."

She laughed a little as she turned the book over. Sir Arthur
stroked his long, fair beard and wondered what manner of woman
this was.

" How bitterly she talks," he thought ; "and she looks like a
person who has seen trouble. I wonder what her life can have
been ?"

He was puzzled, interested — a dangerous beginning. He
13

290

REDMOND O'DONNELL.

lingered by her side nearly the whole evening. Lady Danger-
field looked on in surprise and indignation. Such unwarrantable
presumption on Miss Herncastle's part, such ridiculous attention
on that of Sir Arthur.

"Queenie, do you see?" she said, half angrily; "there is
that forward creature, the governess, actually monopolizing Sir
Arthur the whole night. What does it mean? And you look
as though you didn't care."

Lady Cecil laughed and fluttered her fan. There was a deep
permanent flush on her cheek to-night, a light in the brown eyes
that rarely came. She looked quite dazzling.

" I don't care, Lady Dangerfield. Miss Herncastle may monop-
olize him until doomsday if she chooses. What it means is
this— I asked Sir Arthur in the green-room, two hours ago, to
amuse her, and he is only obeying orders. Upon my word,
Ginevra, 1 think he is really enjoying himself for the first time
since his arrival. See how interested and well pleased he looks.
You ought to feel grateful to Miss Herncastle for entertaining
so well your most distinguished guest. I always thouglit she
was a clever woman — now I feel sure of it. What a pity she
isn't an earl's daughter — she is just the woman of all women he
ought to marry. Don't interrupt, I beg, Ginevra; let poor Sir
Arthur be happy in his own way."

She laughed again and floated away. She was brilliant beyond
expression to-night — some hidden excitem.ent surely sent that
red to her cheeks, that fire to her eyes. Lady Dangerfield, too,
had her little excitement, for the preserver of her life had been
found and was actually now in the rooms.

He had entered some hours ago with the earl, and taken his
place among the audience. He had applauded the Bothwell
scene, and watched La Reine Blanche with cool, critical eyes.
She was very beautiful, but she did not seem to dazzle him.
Like all the rest, the " Charlotte Corday " tableau had struck
him most.

"The deuce," he muttered under his breath, as he looked at
her ; " who the dickens is it that lady reminds me of? "

He could not place her, and as she did not appear again, he
speedily forgot her. He went with the earl into the ballroom,
the cynosure of many pairs of bright eyes. The tall, soldierly
figure, the dashing trooper-swing, the dark face, with its bronzed
skin, its auburn beard and muF^ache, its keen blue^eyes, looking
nearly black under their black brows and lashes, the stately
poise of the head, would have commanded attention anywhere.

REDMOND O'DONNELL.

291

It was the gentleman who had come to the rescue of the boat-
ing party, and whom Lord Ruysland had " met by chance the
usual way," and insisted upon accompanying him home.

" My good fellow," he had said pathetically, "you must come.
Lady Dangerfield has had an adventure for the first time — you
are the hero of that adventure. She overflows with romantic
gratitude. She would never forgive me if I did not fetch you
— she is dying to knov/the preserver of her life. What are you
laughing at? Come and be thanked."

The tall soldier had come, and was presented in due form to
my lady. He was thanked. My lady's expressions of grati-
tude were eloquent and flowing — her rescuer was better looking,
even than she had supposed at first glance — very much better
looking than Major Frankland. The gentleman listened, stroked
his mustache, and looked bored. The earl glanced around.
His niece's fickle fancy was caught once again — Frankland had
found a rival.

''And now, my dear," he said blandly, "before you quite
overpower my poor friend, I think I'll take him to Cecil. They
are quite old friends, I assure you, and she will be delighted to
meet him once more."

They crossed to where she stood, the center of a gay, brilliant
group. She wore the Mary Stuart dress and cap once more,
and looked lovely. In the midst of her laughing repartee her
father's voice fell on her ear :

"Queenie, turn round and greet an old friend." Another
voice spoke — a deep manly tone :

"Six years is a long time to hope for remembrance, but I
trust even six years has not made La Reine Bla?iche forget the
humblest of her subjects."

The laughing words died on her lips. A sort of stillness came
over her from head to foot. She turned round and stood face
to face with Captain Redmond O'Donnell.

292

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

CHAPTER IX.

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

IND is it the road to Torryglin their honors is axin'
afther? Arrah ! get out o' me road, Murty, an' I'll
spake to the quality meself. Torryglin is it, yer
honor's spakin' av ? " said Mr. Timothy Cronin, land-
lord of the popular shebeen, " The Little Dhudee?i,'^ in the town
of Ballynahaggart, County Fermanagh, Ireland, pulling off his
caubeen and making the quality a low bow.

The Earl of Ruysland and his daughter sat in their saddles
before the door. It was drawing near the close of a cloudy,
chill, autumn afternoon. The wind was rising to a steady gale,
and overhead spread a dark, fast-drifting, tlireatening sky.

"Yes, Torryglen," his lordship answered, impatiently; " how
many miles between this and Torryglen, my good fellow? "

" Six, av yer honor takes the road — three, maybe not so
much, av ye take the mountains."

"The mountains — but I don't know — "

" Shure, ye can't go asthray — it's as straight as the nose on
yer honor's face. Crass the Glin there beyant — the path's be-
fore ye so plain a blind man cudn't miss it. Thin turn to the
right and crass the sthrame, whin ye get to Torrybahm-an "

" But, my good man," cried the earl, still more impatiently,
"I don't know your confounded 'sthrames' or * Torrybahm.s,'
and we'll go astray to a dead certainty if v/e take this winding
bridle-path you speak of The mountain lakes and streams are
flooded beside, they told me in Enniskillen — the way you
speak of may be shorter but dangerous."

"Sorra danger ! " said Timothy Cronin, disdainfully. "Yer
bastes will take it in the clappin' av yer hands. But if yer
afeered,yer honor — an' shure it'ud be a thousand pities to have
the purty young lady beside ye belated, sure there's a dacent
boy here that'll convoy ye a piece o' the road an' welcome.
Mickey — Mickey avic — come here ! "

Mickey came — the "dacent boy" of Mr. Cronin' s eulogy —
a stripling of perhaps five-and-forty summers. Mickey was
smoking a little black pipe, and gave his forelock a pull of re-
spect to the gentry.

"This is Mickey, yer honor — Micky McGuiggan — as soople
a boy as any in the town Ian' ; knows ivery fut av the road

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

293

bether thin his prayers, an' goes over it aftener; It's Torr}--
glin that's wantin', Mickey — an' shure this is the lord himself —
an' ye'll take thim acrass the hills and Torrybahm afore night-
fall, an' good luck to ye."

"Come on then,, my man," the earl said to Mickey, and
flinging the landlord of the Little Dhudeen'' a crown for his
civihty, the guide, barefooted, his pipe still in his mouth,
skipped ahead with the fleet-footed rapidity of a peasant born
and bred on the spot, the two equestrians following at a tolera-
ble pace."

The scenery was wild and picturesque. Here and there a
thatched cabin, with its little potato garden — the only sign of
human habitation — purple and russet moorland, towering cliffs,
and black beetling rocks. Away in the distance the roar of
mountain torrents, swollen by recent heavy rains, and over
their heads that black, heavily drifting sky, threatening another
downpour.

"By Heaven! Cecil," the earl exclaimed, looking upward at
the frowning canopy, " the storm will be upon us before we
reach Torryglen yet. What a fool I was not to remain at
Enniskillen, until to-morrow."

" Only three miles, he said, papa, and we have surely ridden
one of them already. As for the storm, a wet jacket won't
hurt either of us, and I suppose they will give us a good fire
and a hot dinner when we reach the house."

" Divil fear thim but they will ! " muttered Mr. McGuiggan,
ahead, " sorra hate I'm towld thim English does but ate and
dhrink. Lashins o' whiskey every hour in the twinty-four av'
they plase, an' beef and mutton ivery day av' their lives, Fridays,
an' all. An' it's the lord himself I'm conveyin' and his daugh-
ter; troth, but she's a purty craythur, too."

"Papa," Lady Cecil said wistfully, "is it possible people
really live, and eat and sleep in these wretched hovels ? I
have seen poverty before, but never such poverty as this."

" They are little better than savages, my dear, and as might
be expected, live in a semi-savage state. The scenery is wild
enough and grand enough at least. Look at those black beet-
ling cliffs crowned with arbutis and holly. If we were artists,
Queenie, we might paint this, and inmortalize ourselves."

"The storm is coming," Lady Cecil cried, as a great drop
splashed upon her upturned face, and the hills shook with the
sullen roar of distant thunder. " You were right, we are in for
a wetting after all."

294

SIX YEARS BEFORE,

" How many miles to Torryglen now^ my man ? " the earl
called anxiously.

" Betther then wan an' a half," responded their guide ; an*
troth ye' 11 ketch it ! D'ye hear that roar ? That's the moun-
tain lakes spoutin, an' whin they do that, .be me word, there's
danger in crassin the sthrame. An' ye must crass it to get to
Torryglin this night. A chile cud do it dhry shod in the hate
o' summer, but now — bedad ! I hope your bastes is good
shwimmers, or ye'll niver see the other side. There's a current
there that wud carry an army o' men over, an' a fall to back it
thirty feet deep."

" Then what the devil!" cried the earl angrily, "did that
rascally landlord mean by saying there was no danger, and rec-
ommending this way ? Why did he not permit us to take the
high road as we intended ? It might have been longer perhaps,
but at least it would have been safe."

'*Faix, that's true for yer honor. Shure a short cut any-
wbere's always the longest way in the ind. Troth, meself's
thinkin' the high-road wud have been the shortest cut this
blissid night. And there's the sthrame for ye now, and be
gomenties, it's roarin' like mad !"

Mr. McGuiggan paused — Lord Ruysland and Lady Cecil
drew up their horses aghast. A foaming torrent crossed their
path swollen to the width of a river, rushing over the rocks
with the fury of a cataract, and plunging wildly over a precipice
thirty yards distant.

"There it is for ye," said Mickey, stolidly; "an' if ye' re
afeerd to cross, troth there's nothin' for it but jist turn roun'
and ride back to Ballynahaggart. An' meself's thinkin', con-
shideren' the bewtiful young lady yer lordship has wid ye, it 'ud
be the wisest thing ye cud do. Shure ye'll be dhrowned intirely,
wid the rain and the lightnin, except in case that yer horses
can shwim it. An' faix meself has doubts av that same."

The rain was falling now in drenching torrents, the roar of
the thunder and rushing waters commingled in a dread diapason ;
"from crag to crag the living lightning leaped;" and before
them, barring farther progress, poured madly by the rushing,
furious river.

" What shall we do, Cecil ? " the earl asked, with the calm
intensity of despair.

" I don't know, papa," Lady Cecil responded ; and in spite
of the danger and disagreeableness generally, there was a smile
on her lips as she watched Mr. Michael McGuiggan standing

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

295

amid all the sublime, savage grandeur of the scene and the
storm, his hands in his tattered corduroy pockets, his little
black pipe in his mouth, scanning the prospect with calm phi-
losophy. " It may be dangerous to go on, and yet one hates to
turn back."

I'm d — d if I turn back ! " muttered the earl, savagely, be-
tween his teeth. Do you come with us,^ my man, or does your
pilotage end here ? "

"There it's for ye," responded Mickey, dogmatically, nod-
ding toward the river ; take it or lave it, but sorra shooaside
will I commit this night. Av yer bastes wor Irish now," look-
ing with ineffable disdain at the thorough-breds ridden by the
earl and his daughter ; " but — Oh, wirra ! wirra ! there they
go, and, av Providence hasn't said it, they'll be dhrowned afore
me eyes !"

" Come on, Cecil ! " the earl exclaimed ; " our horses will do
it, and every moment we spend here is a moment wasted."

He seized her bridle rein, and the animals plunged headlong
into the flood. Lady Cecil sat her horse as though part of the
animal, and grasped the reins with the strength of desperation.
Both she and the earl strove to head their horses against the
boiling current, but, after the first plunge, the terrified horses
stood amid the seething foam as if spell-bound. Lord Ruys-
land, his teeth set, struck his own a savage blow with his whip.
He sprang madly forward, leading the other in his wake.

"Courage, Cecil — courage!" the earl shouted. "We will
ford this hell of waters yet ! "

But even as he spoke, at that instant she was unseated, and
with a long, wild cry was tossed like a feather in the gale down
straight to that awful precipice below.

No mortal help, it seemed, could save her. Her father
made frantic efforts to reach her, but in vain. Near, nearer,
nearer to that frightful, hissing chasm, to be dashed to atoms
on the rocks below. In the midst of the waters the earl sat his
horse, white, powerless, paralyzed.

" Oh, God ! " he cried, "can nothing save her? "

Yes; at the last moment a wild shout came from the opposite
bank, a figure plunged headlong into the river, and headed
with ahnost superhuman strength toward her.

" Cling to the rock for the love of God ! " shouted a voice
through the din of the storm.

Through the din of the storm, through her reeling senses,
she heard that cry and obeyed. She caught at a rock near, and

296

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

grasped it with the tenacity of despair for a moment ; another,
and she was torn away, held with iron strength in the grasp of
a strong arm. There was a last, desperate struggle with the
surging flood— a struggle in which both she and her rescuer
were nearly whirled over the chasm. Then, in the uproar and
darkness, there came a lull ; then the tumult of many voices
in wild Irish shouts ; then she was lying on the opposite bank,
drenched from head to foot, but saved from an awful death.

" Hurrah !" shouted a wild voice. Long life to ye. Mister
Redmond ! Shure it's yerself is the thrue warrant for a sthrong
arm and a sthout heart ! Begorra ! though ye war near it !
Upon me sowl, there isn't another man in the barony but yer-
self cud av' dun it."

Oh, stow all that, Lanty ! " answered an impatient voice,
as Lady Cecil's preserver gave himself a shake like a water-dog.
" I'll hold you a guinea it's the English lord and his daughter
on their way to Torryglen. Were they mad, I wonder, to try
and ford the torrent in this storm ? See how he breasts the
current — he's down — no, he's up again — now he's gained the
bank. By the rock of Cashell ! gallantly done — a brave beast !
Lanty, if you can do anything more for them, do it. I'm off."

He bounded away in the rainy twilight with the speed of a
young stag. The peasant addressed as "Lanty" looked after
him.

"By the powers, but it's like ye and all yer breed, seed, and
gineration, to go to the divil to save any one in disAhress, and
thin fly as if he were afther ye for fear ye'd get thanked. Oh,
but it's meself that knows ye — father an' son — this many a day
well. God save your honor kindly."

Lanty pulled off his hairy cap.

" Troth, it was a narra escape yer honor had this night, an'
the young lady. Oh, thin, it's a sore heart ye'd have in yer
breasht this minit av it hadn't been for the young masther."

" That gallant youth," the earl cried, flinging himself off his
horse. " I never saw a braver deed, Cecil — Cecil, my darling,
thank Heaven you are saved ! Cecil, my dearest, are you
hurt ? "

He hfted the golden head and kissed the wan, wet face. In
all her sixteen years of life, Lord Ruysland had never fully
realized how he loved his only child before.

She had not fainted. The high courage of the peer's daugh-
ter had upheld her through all. She half raised herself now,
and smiled faintly.

SIX YEARS BEFORE,

297

^'Not hurt, only stunned a little by the fright and the whirl
of the water. And you, papa ? "

^' I am perfectly safe, but — good Heaven ! what an escape
it has been. In five seconds you would have been over that
horrible gulf. — Why, that lad has the heart of a very lion ! the
most gallant thing I ever saw done. He risked his life without
one thought, I verily believe. A brave lad — a brave lad. And
he has, as far as I could see, the air of a gentleman, too."

Lanty overheard, and looked at his lordship with supreme
disdain.

''A gintleman, is it? Faith he is that, an' divil thank him
for it! Shure he's the O'Donnell — no less; an' iverybody
knows tlie O'Donnells wor kings and princes afore the time o'
Moses. Gintleman, indade ! Oh, thin it's himself that is,
an' his father an' his father's father afore him. Wern't they
kings o' Ulsther, time out o' mind, and didn't they own ivery
rood an' mile av the counthry ye' re travelin' in the days
o' Henry the Eighth, till himself wid his wives an' his black-
guarden tuk it from thim an' besthowed it on dhirty divils like
himself? My curse an' the curse o' the crows on him and thim,
hot an' heavy this night ! "

" Indeed," said the earl ; and who are yoti, my good fellow ? ,
A retainer of that kingly and fallen house, I take it ! "

His companion gave a second polite duck of his hairy cap.
I'm Lanty, yer honor — Lanty Lafferty, av it's plazeen to ye
— called afther me grandfather on the mother's side — God be
good to him, dacent man! I'm Misther Redmond's own man,
an' it's proud an' happy I am to be that same."

"You like your young master, then ? "

" An' why wouldn't I like him? Is there a man or baste in
the County Fermanagh Vv^udn't shed ther last dhrop for the
O'Donnell. More betoken there isn't his like for a free-handed,
bould-hearted gintleman from here to the wurruld's ind. But,
arrah, why nade I be talkin' — sure yer honor knows for yerself "

" I do, indeed, and I honor him the more for flying to escape
ray gratitude. But as we are to be neighbors, I perceive, I
insist upon our being friends. Tell him it is my earnest wish —
that of my daughter, too — that he shall visit us, or permit us to
visit him. He need not fear being overwhelmed with thanks —
I feel what he has done too deeply to turn fine phrases. K
brave lad and a gallant ! And now, if you'll guide us to Torry-
glen, my good fellow, you'll do us a last great service."

" I'll do that wid all the < veins,' " cried Lanty Latferty ; " it's
13*

298

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

no distance in life from this. Faix, it iid be a thousand
pities av the purty crathiir beside ye got cowld, for, upon
my conscience, it's more Hke an angel she is than a yoimg
woman."

Torryglen lay nestling in a green hollow amid the nigged
hills and waving wealth of gorse and heather. A trim little
cottage set in the center of a flower garden, and fitted up within
and without with every comfort and elegance. The earl's valet
and Lady Cecil's maid had gone on in advance, and glorious
peat fires, dry garments, and a savory dinner awaited them. For
Lanty Lafferty, he was regaled in the kitchen, and when, hours
after, he sought out his young master, he was glowing and
flowing over with praises of "the lord" and his daughter.

" Oh, the darlin' o' the worruld ! Wid a face like roses an'
new milk, an' two eyes av her own that ud warm the very
cockles av' yer heart only to look at, an' hair for all iver ye
seen like a cup of coffee ! "

"Coflee, Lanty?"
Ay, coffee — an' wirra ! but it's Httle av' the same we get in
this house. Shure I had a beautiful cup over there beyant an
hour ago. Like coffee~not too sthrong, mind — an' with jist a
notion o' crame. That's its color; an', musha, but it's as purty
a color as ye'U find in a day's walk. An' whin she looks up at
ye — like this now — out of the ta.il av' her eye, an' wid a shmile
on her beautiful face — oh, tare an' ages ! av' it wudn't make an
ould man young only to look at her ! "

The young C)'Donnell laughed. He was lying at full length
on the oak floor — before the blazing peat fire — in one of the
few habitable rooms that remained of what had once been
the " Castle of the O'Donnell." He had not troubled himself
to remove his wet clothes — he lay there steaming unconcernedly
before the blaze — a book at his side, the " Iliad ; " — a superb
specimen of youth, and strength, and handsome health.

" She appears to have made an impression upon you, Lanty.
So she is as handsome as this, is she ? I thought so myself,
but wasn't sure, and I hadn't time to take a second look before
his lordship rode up, and I made off."

"An' wudn't it have been more reasonable, now, and more
Christian-like, to have stood yer ground ? Whin an O'Donnell
niver run away from danger, arrah ! Where's the sinse av'
phovvderin' away like mad afther it ? Shure he wanted to
thank ye, and so did the illigant young crathur hersilf."

"The very reason T fled, Lanfy. T don't want their thanks

SIX YEARS BEFORE.

299

—I don't want them, for that matter. What are they coming
here for ? What attraction can they find in our wild mountain
district that they should risk their necks seeking Torryglen ?
It is to be hoped they have got enough of it by this time."

"Troth, then, masther darHn', but that ould lord's a nice,
quiet, mighty civil-spoken gintleman, and he does be sayin' he
wants you to call and see him, or give him an' the fair-haired
colleen lave to come up here an' call on ye."

" On me — call on me ! " The young man (he was two-
and-twenty or thereabouts) looked up with a short laugh.
" Oh, yes, let him visit O'Donnell Castle, by all means. See
that the purple drawing-room is swept and dusted, Lanty, and
the cobwebs brushed from the walls, and the three years' grime
and soot washed from the windows. See that the footmen wear
their best liveries and put on their brogues for the occasion.
Come up here ! Upon my life, this lord's daughter will be en-
chanted with the splendors' of Castle O'Donnell. Lanty, if
they do happen to call, which isn't likely — and if I happen to
be in, which ?Jso isn't likely — tell them I'm up in the mountains,
or in the moon ; that I've gone to Ballynahaggart, or — the
devil — that I'm dead and buried, if you Hke. I won't see
them. Now be off "

And then Mr. Redmond O'Donnell went back to the sound-
ing hexameters of his " Iliad," and tried in poetry to forget ;
but the fair pale face of the earl's daughter arose between him
and the page — wet, wild, woful, as he had seen it, with the fair
streaming hair, the light, slender form, that he had clutched
from the very hand of death. And she was coming, this
haughty, high-born, high-bred English patrician, to behold the
squalor, and the poverty, and the misery of this heap of ruin
called O'Donnell Castle, to make a scoff and a wonder of Irish
poverty and fallen Irish fortunes.

" I'll not see them," the youth resolved, his handsome, boyish,
open face settling into a look of sullen determination. " I
don't want their visit or their thanks. I'll be off up the
mountains to-morrow, and stay there until this fine English lord
and his daughter leave, which will be before long, I'm thinking.
A week or two in this savage district will suftice for them."

But still the fair face haunted him — the novelty of such a
neighbor was not to be got over. He flung the Iliad away at
length, and going out on the grassy plateau, looked down the
valley to where the cottage lights twinkled, far and faint, two
miles off. And from her chamber window, ere she went to bed,

300

AN IRISH IDYL.

Lady Cecil Clive gazed up at the starlit sky, and the ruined
towers of what had once been a great and mighty stronghold.
The storai had spent its fury and passed, the autumn stars, large
and white, shone out, the fresh hillside wind blev/ down in her
fair wistful face. It was a sad fate, she thought — the last scion
of a kingly and beggared race, brave as a lion and penniless as
a pauper, dwelling alone in that ruined pile, and wasting his
youth and best years amid the wilds of this ruined land.

Poor fellow ! " Lady Cecil thought. " So young and so
utterly friendless ! — too proud to labor, and too poor to live as
a gentleman — wasting his life in these savage ruins ! Papa must
do something for him when we return to England. He saved
my life at the risk of his own, and so heavy a debt of gratitude
as that must be paid."

CHAPTER X.

AN IRISH IDYL.

jN very small things hinge very great events.

A horse minus a shoe changed the whole course of
Redmond O'Donnell's life — altered his entire destiny.
He neither went to the mountains nor the moon, to
Ballynahaggart nor the — dark majesty of the Inferno. He
staid at home, and he saw the Earl of Ruysland and the Lady
Cecil Clive.

It happened thus : Going to the stables next morning to
saddle his favorite mare, Kathleen, he found her in need of the
blacksmith's services. Lanty led her off, and returning to the
house, the young O'Donnell came face to face with his English
visitors.

He stood for a moment mute with surprise and chagrin.
He had not dreamed in the remotest way of their coming so
soon, or so early, and — here they were ! Escape was impossi-
ble ; they were before him ; and by birth and training, by race
and nature, the lad was a gentleman. He took off his cap,
and the young mountaineer bowed to the earl's daughter like a
prince. Lord Ruysland advanced with extended hand and his
sweetest smile.

AN IRISH IDYL.

301

"All, Mr. O'Domiell, you fled ingloriously before me yester-
day— not like an O'Donnell, by the bye, to fly even from grati-
tude. No — don't look so alarmed — nobody is going to thank
you. You saved my daughter's life at the imminent risk of
your own — a mere trifle, not worth mentioning. Cecil, my
dear, come and shake hands with our young hero of yesterday
— ah, I beg pardon ! I promised to call no names. Mr. Red-
mond O'Donnell, Lady Cecil Clive."

And then two large, soft eyes of ''liquid light " looked up into
his, a little gray-gloved hand was given, a little, soft, low voice
murmured something — poor Mr, Redmond O'Donnell never
knew what — and from that moment his doom was sealed.
Sudden, perhaps ; but then this young man was an Irishman —
everything is said in^that.

He flung open the half-hingeless, wholly lockless front door,
and led the way, with some half-laughing apology for the tumble-
down state of O'Donnell Castle.

" Don't blame us. Lord Ruysland," the young man said,
half-gay ly, half-sadly ; " blame your own countrymen and con-
fiscation. We were an improvident race, perhaps, but when
they took our lands and our country from us, we let the little
they left go to rack and ruin. When a man loses a hundred
thousand pounds or so, it doesn't seem worth his while to
hoard very carefully the dozen or so of shillings remaining. Lady
Cecil, will you take this seat ? We can give you a fine view,
at least, from our windows, if we can give you nothing else."

The earl and his daughter were loud in their praises. It
was fine. Miles of violet and purple heather, here and there
touched with golden, green, or rosy tinges, blue hills melting
into the bluer sky, and deepest blue of all, the wide sea, spread-
ing miles away, sparMing in the sunshine as if sown with stars.

They remained nearly an hour. The young seigneur of this
ruined castle conducted them to the gates — nay, to the two
huge buttresses, where gates once had been — and stood, cap in
hand, watching them depart. And so, with the sunshine on his
handsome, tanned face, on his uncovered, tall head. Lady
Cecil bore away the image of Redmond O'Donnell.

You know this story before I tell it. She was sixteen years
of age— he had saved her life, risking his own to save it, with-
out a moment's thought, and like a true v/oman, she adored
bravery almost above all other things in man. She pitied him
unspeakably, so proud, so poor, so noble of birth and ancestry,
a descendant of kings, and a pauper. And he had an eye like

302

AN IRISH IDYL,

an eagle, a voice tender and spirited together, and a smile — a
smile, Lady Cecil thought, bright as the sunshine on yonder
Ulster hills. It was love at first sight — boy and girl love, of
course ; and the Earl of Ruysland, shrewd old worldling that
he was, might have known it very well if he had given the sub-
ject one thought. But he did not. He was a great deal too
absorbed in his own personal concerns about this time to have
much solicitude about his little daughter's affaires du ccniir.
Lady Cecil had pitied Redmond O'Donnell for being a pauper,
without in the least dreaming she was one herself Through
no fancy for the country, through no desire to ameliorate the
condition of the inhabitants, had my lord come to Ireland.
Grim poverty had driven him hither, and was likely to keep
him here for some time to come.

His life had been one long round of pleasure and excess, of
luxury and extravagance. He had come into a fortune when
he attained his majority, and squandered it. He came into
another when he married his wealthy wife, and squandered that,
too. Now he was over head and ears in debt. Clive Court was
mortgaged past all redemption — in flight was his only safety ;
and he fled — to Ireland. There was that little hunting-box of
his among the Ulster hills — Torryglen ; he could have that
made habitable, and go there, and rough it until the storm blew
over. Roughing it himself, he did not so much mind.
" Roughing it," in his phraseology, meaning a valet to wait
upon him, all the elegancies of his life transported from his
Belgravian lodgings, and a first-rate cook — but there was his
daughter. For the first time in her sixteen years of life she
was thrown upon his hands. At her birth, and her mother's
death, she had been placed out at nurse ; at the age of three,
a cousin of her mother's, living in Paris, had taken her, and
brought her up. Brought her up on strictly French principles
— taught her that love and courtship, as English girls under-
stand them, are indelicate, criminal almost ; that for the pres-
ent she must attend to her books, her music, her drawing, and
embroidery, and that when the proper time came, she would
receive her husband as she did her jewelry and dresses — from
the hand of papa. .Papa came to see her tolerably often,
took her with him once in a while when he visited his friend
and crony. Sir John Tregenna ; and she w\as told if she were a
good girl she should one day, when properly grown up, marry
young Arthur and be Lady Tregenna herself, and queen it in
this old sea-girt Cornish castle. And little Cecil always

AN IRISH IDYL.

303

laughed and dimpled, and danced away and thought no more
about it. She had seen very little of Arthur Tregenna — she was
somewhat in awe of him, as has been said. He was so grave,
so wise, so learned, and she was such a frivolous little butterfly,
dancing in the sunshine, eating bonbons, and singing from
morning till night.

Her first grief was the death of the kind Gallicized English-
woman who had been her second mother. Her father, on the
eve of his Irish exile, went to Paris, brought her with him, and
her old bonny Therese, and for the first time in her life, little
Lady Cecil met with an adventure, and became a heroine.

" I wonder if he will call upon us ! " she thought now, as she
walked homeward through the soft autumn noonday — the per-
sonal pronoun of course having reference to the young O'Don-
nell. " He did not really promise, but I think — I think he
looked as though he would like to come. It would be pleas-
ant to have some one to talk to, when papa is away, and he
tells me he will be away a great deal at Bally — the town wv\\\
the unpronounceable Irish name. How ver)^, very poor he
seems ; his jacket was quite shabby ; his whole dress like that
of the peasantry. And such a tumble-down place — only fit
for owls, and bats, and rooks. Papa (aloud), you have a great
deal of influence, and many friends in England — could you do
nothing for this Mr. O'Donnell ? He seems so dreadfully poor,
papa."

The earl shrugged his shoulders and laughed. " My little,
unsophisticated Cecil! A great deal of influence and many
friends ! My dear, I have not influence enough to keep myself
out of the bankrupt court, nor friends enough to enable me to
stay in England. Do you think I would coiue to this con-
founded, half civihzed land, if I could stay away ? Poor, in-
deed ! Your Mr. O'Donnell isn't half as poor as I am, for at
least I suppose he isn't very deeply in debt."

His daughter looked at him in sheer surprise. " And you
are, papa ? You poor ? Poor ! " she tried to comprehend it,
shook her head, and gave it up. " I always thought you were
rich, papa — I always thought English peers had more money
than they knew what to do with. How can we be poor — with
servants, and horses, and plate, and — "

*'One must have the necessities of life, child," her father
broke in impatiently, " as long as they are living. One can't
go back to primitive days, and live in a wigwam, or in a rickety
rookery like that. I wish to Heaven one could — I'd try it. I

304

AN IRISH IDYL.

tell you I haven't a farthing in the world — you may as well
learn it now as later ; and have more debts than I can ever
pay off from now to the crack of doom. I don't want to pay.
While I'm in hiding here I'll try to compromise in some way
with my confounded creditors and the Jews. Poor, indeed !
By Jove ! we may live and die in this Irish exile, for what I
see," the earl said with a sort of groan.

A little smile dimpled Lady Cecil's rose-bud face, a happy
light shone in her gold-brown eyes. She glanced at the little
cottage nestling in its green cup, myrtle and clematis chmbing
over it, at the fair fields, daisy spangled, at the glowing uplands
in their purple dress, at the rugged towers of the old castle
boldly outlined against the soft sunny sky, with a face that
showed to her at least the prospect of an eternal Irish exile
had no terrors.

" Very well, papa," she said, dreamily; suppose we do?
It's a very pretty place, I'm sure, and if we are poor it surely
will not take much to keep us here. While I have you and
Ther^se and my books and piano, / am content to stay here
forever."

Her father turned and looked at her, astonishment and dis-
gust struggling in his face.

Good Heaven ! listen to her ! Content to stay here !
Yes, and live on potatoes like the natives, and convert the
skins into clothing, to go barefooted and wear striped linsey-
woolsey gowns reaching below the knee, talk v%dth a meUifluous
North of Ireland accent, and end by marrying Lan ty Lafferty,
I suppose, or the other fellow Mickey. If you can't talk sense,
Cecil, hold your tongue ! "

Lady Cecil blushed and obeyed. Marry Lanty Lafferty !
No, she would hardly do that. But oh, Cecil, whence that rosy
blush ? Whence that droop of the fair, fresh face ? Whence
that sudden rising in your mind of the tall figure, the bold flash-
ing eyes of Redmond O'Donnell? Is this why the Irish exile
is robbed of its terrors for you ?

No, no," the earl said, after a little, as his daughter re-
mained silent. "We'll get out of this howling wilderness of
roaring rivers, and wild young chieftains, and tumble-down cas-
tles as speedily as we can. I have one hope left, and that is — "
he looked at her keenly — " in you, my dear."

I, papa ? "

" Yes j in your marriage. What's the child blushing at ? In
a year or two you'll be . old enough, and Tregenna will be

AN IRISH IDYL.

back in England. Of course you know it has been an under-
stood thing these many years that you were to marry him when
you grew up. He is perfectly ready to fulfill the compact, and
certainly you will be. You have been brought up in a way to
understand this. Tregenna is rich, monstrously rich, and won't
see his father-in-law up a tree. I give you my word he is my
last hope — your marriage with him, I mean. I will try and
compromise with my creditors, I say, and when things are
straightened out a bit we'll go back to England. You shall be
presented at court, and will make, I rather fancy, a sensation.
V/e will let you enjoy yourself for your first season, and when it
is over we will marry you comfortably to Sir Arthur Tregenna."

And Lady Cecil listened with drooping eyelids. It seemed
to her all right — French girls married in this judicious way, all
trouble of love-making and that nonsense being taken off their
hands by kindly parents and guardians. She listened, and if
she did not say so in words said in effect, with Thackeray's hero,
Mr. Foker, " Very well, sir, as you like it. When you want
me, please ring the bell," and then fell into thought once more,
and wondered dreamily if young O'Donnell would call that even-
ing at Torryglen.

Young O'Donnell called. The little drawing-room of the
cottage was lit with waxlights, a peat fire burned on the hearth,
a bright-hued carpet covered the floor, tinted paper hung the
walls, and pretty sunny pictures gemmed them. It was half
drawing-room, half library, one side being lined with books. A
little cottage piano stood between the front windows — Lady
Cecil sat at that — a writing-desk occupied the other side — his
lordship sat at that. Such a contrast to the big, bare, bleak,
lonesome rooms at home — their only music the scamper of the
rats, the howUng of the wind, and Lanty's Irish lilting.

The contrast came upon him with a pang of almost pain ;
the gulf between himself and these people, whose equal by
birth he was, had not seemed half so sharp before. Lady Cecil,
in crisp, white muslin and blue ribbons, with diamond drops in
her ears and twinkling on her slim fingers, seemed as far above
him as some " bright particular star," etc. He stood in the
doorway for a moment irresolute, abashed, sorry he had come,
ashamed of his shabby jacket and clumping boots. The earl,
with pen in his hair like some clerk, looked up from his pile of
papers and nodded familiarly.

" Ah, O'Donnell — how do ? Come in. Been expecting you.
Very busy, you see — must excuse mc. Cecil will entertain you

3o6

AN IRISH IDYL.

— give him some music, my dear." And then my lord went
back to his papers — bills, duns, accounts, no end — with knitted
brows and absorbed mind, and forgot in half a nainute such an
individual as O'Donnell existed.

Redmond went over to the piano ; how bright the smile of
girlish pleasure with which the Httle lady welcomed him.
" Would he sit here ? — did he like music ? — would he turn the
pages for her? — was he fond of Moore's melodies?" In this
brilHant and original way the conversation commenced.

"Yes, he liked music, and he was very fond of Moore's mel-
odies. Would she please go on with that she was singing ? "
It was, ''She was far from the land where her young hero
sleeps," and the tender young voice was full of the pathos and
sweetness of the beautiful song.

" He lived for his love, for his country he died," sang Lady
Cecil, and glanced under her long, brown lashes at the grave,
dark face beside her. " Robert Emmet must have looked like
that," she thought; ''he seems as though he could die for his
country too. I suppose his ancestors have. ..I wish — I wish —
papa could do something for him, or — Sir Arthur Tregenna."

But somehow it was unpleasant to think of Sir Arthur, and
her mind shifted away from him. She finished her song, and
discovered Mr. O'Donnell could sing — had a very fine and
highly cultivated voice, indeed, and was used to the piano ac-
companiment.

" I used to sing with my sister," he explained, in answer to
her involuntary look of surprise. " She plays very well."
" Your sister ! why I thought — "

" I had none. Oh, yes I have — very jolly little girl Rose is,
too — I rather think you would like her. I am quite sure," Mr.
O'Donnell blushed a little himself as he turned this first com-
pliment, "she would likejF^z/." '

" And will she come here ? How glad I am. Will she
come soon ? 1 am certain I shall like her."

Redmond shook his head.

" No," he said, "she will not come here at all — never, in all
likelihood. She is in America — in New Orleans, living with
her grandfather. A Frenchman, Lady Cecil."

" A Frenchman ! Your sister's grandfather ? "

"Yes — an odd mixture, you think," smiling. "You see.
Lady Cecil, when my father was a young man, he fought in the
Mexican war under General Scott. We are a lighting race, I
must inform you — war is our trade. When the Mexican war

AN IRISH IDYL,

ended, he went to New Orleans, and there he met a young lady
— PYench, and a great heiress — a beauty too, though she was
my mother. Well, Lady Cecil, she fell in love with the dash-
ing Irish trooper — her friends were frantic, and she eloped with
him. A romantic story, is it not? He brought her here — it
must have been a contrast to the luxury of her French horne.
Her father refused to forgive her — returned all her letters un-
opened, and here she lived seven years, and here she died and
was buried. I'll show you her grave some day in the church-
yard of Ballynahaggart. I was six — Rose one year old. Her
father heard of her death — not through mine ; he never wrote
or held any communication with him — and he relented at last.
Came all the way over here, nearly broken-hearted, and wanted
to become reconciled. But my father sternly and bitterly re-
fused. He offered to take Rose and me, and bring us up, and
leave us his fortune when he died ; but still he was refused.
He returned to New Orleans, and three months after Father
Ryan of Ballynahaggart wrote him word of my father's death.
He had never held up his head after my mother's loss.

^'They sent us both out there. Young as I was, I resisted
— all the bitterness of my father had descended to me ; but I
resisted in vain. We went out to New Orleans, and now I
look back upon my life there as a sort of indistinct dream or
fairy tale. The warmth, the tropical beauty, and the luxuriance
of my grandfather's house, come back to me in dreams some-
times, and I wake to see the rough rafters and mildewed walls
of the old castle. I stayed there with him until I was nine-
teen, then I refused to stay longer. He had despised my father
and shortened my mother's life by his cruelty — I would not
stay a dependent on his bounty. It was boyish bravado, per-
haps. Lady Cecil, but I felt all I said. I left New Orleans
and Rose, and came here, and here I have been running wild,
and becoming the savage you fin<i me. But I like the freedom
of the life in spite of its poverty ; I would not exchange it for
the silken indolence and luxury of Menadarva, my Louisianian
home. And here I shall remain until an opportunity offers to
go, as all my kith and kin have gone before me, and earn my
livelihood at the point of my sword."

Lady Cecil Hstened. She liked all this ; she liked the lad's
spirit in refusing for himself that which had been refused his
mother. Not good sense, perhaps, but sound chivalry.

"You v/ill go out to India, I suppose," she said; "there al-
ways seems to be fighting there for those who want it."

3o8 IRISH IDYL.

The young man's brow darkened.

"India?" he said ; "no. No O'Donnell ever fought under
the Enghsh flag — I will not be the first. Years ago, Lady
Cecil — two hundred and more — all this country you see be-
longed to us, and they confiscated it, and left us houseless and
outlaws. The O'Donnell of that day swore a terrible oath that
none of his race should ever fight for the British invader, and
none of them ever have. I shall seek service under a foreign
flag — it doesn't matter which, so that it is not that of your na-
tion, Lady Cecil."

Lady Cecil pouted — said it was unchristian and unforgiving,
but in her heart of hearts she liked it" all, and wished, with
Desdemona, that Heaven had made her such a man. Red-
mond O'Donnell lingered until the earl yawned audibly over
his musty accounts, and the little ormolu clock ticked ofl" half-
past ten, and walked homeward under the moonlight and star-
light, feeling that the world had suddenly beautified, and this
lowly valley had become a very garden of Eden, with the
sweetest Eve that ever smiled among the roses.

That first evening was but the beginning of the end. The
visits, the music, the duets, reading — the walks " o'er the moor
among the heather," the rides over the autumn hills, v/ith Red-
mond O'Donnell for cavalier, the sketching of the old castle —
the old, old, old, endless story of youth and love, told since the
world began — to be told till the last trump shall sound.

Lord Ruysland saw nothing, heard nothing — was as unsuspi-
cious as though he were not a " battered London rake " and a
thorough man of the world. His impecunious state filled his
mind to the exclusion of everything else, and then Cecil had
been so well brought up, etc. The child must walk and ride,
and must have a companion. Young O'Donnell was a beggar
— literally a beggar — and of course might as well fix his foolish
aflections on one of her Majesty's daughters as upon that of the
Earl of Ruysland.

He was awakened suddenly and unexpectedly from his dream
and his delusion. Seven weeks had passed — the ides of No-
vember had come — the chill autumn blasts were whistling
drearily over the mountains. He was sick and tired to death
of his enforced exile ; affairs had been patched up in some way,
a compromise eff'ected; he might venture to show his face once
more across the Channel. In a week or two at the farthest he
would start.

He sat complacently thinking this over alone in the drawing-

AN IRISH IDYL.

room, when the door opened. Gregory, his man, announced
*' Mr. O'Donnell," and vanished.

" Ah, Redmond, my lad, glad to see you. Come in — come
in. Cecil's upstairs. I'll send for her."

But Mr. O'Donnell interrupted; he did not wish Lady Cecil
sent for — at least just yet. He wished to speak to the earl
alone.

He was so embarrassed, so unlike himself — bold, frank, free,
as he habitually was — that Lord Ruysland looked at him in
surprise. That look was enough — it told him all.

" Good Heavens ! " he thought, " what an ass I have been.
Of course, he has fallen in love with her — arn't matrimony aud
murder the national pastimes of this dehghtful island ? And
very likely she has fallen in love with him — -the young savage
is so confoundedly good-looking."

He was right. While he sat thinking this, Redmond O'Don-
nell was pouring into his ear the story of his love and his hopes.

It was his madness to worship her " (he was very young
and inclined to hyperbole), " to adore her. He v/as poor, he
knew, but he was young, and the world was all before him. He
would wait — ay, as long as his lordship pleased— he would win
a name, a fortune, a title, it might be, and lay them at her feet.
One O'Donnell had done it in Spain already — what any man
had done he could do. His birth, at least, was equal to hers.
He asked nothing now but this : Only let him hope — let him go
forth into the world and win name and fame, lay them at her
feet, and claim her as his wife. He loved her — no one in this
world would ever love her again better than he." And then he
broke down all at once and turned away and waited for his
answer.

The earl kept a grave face — it spoke volumes for his admir-
able training and high good breeding. He did not laugh in
this wild young enthusiast's face ; he did not fly into a passion;
he did nothing rude or unpleasant, and he did not make a scene.

"Mr. O'Donnell' s affection did his daughter much honor,"
he said ; " certainly he was her equal, her superior, indeed, in
point of birth ; and as to making a name for himself, and win-
ning a fortune, of course, there could not be a doubt as to that
with a young man of his indomitable courage and determina-
tion. But was it possible Lady Cecil had not already told him
she was engaged?"

*' Engaged ! " The young man could but just gasp the word,
pale and wild. " Engaged? "

310

AN IRISH IDYL.

" Most certainly — from her very childhood — to the wealthy
Cornish baronet, Sir Arthur Tregenna. She had given her
promise to marry him of her own free will — the wedding, in all
probability, would take place upon her eighteenth birthday.
Really now it was quite inexcusable of Queenie not to have
mentioned this. But it was just possible — she was so very
young, and Mr. O'Donnell was a man of honor — perhaps he
was doing him injustice in thinking he had made a declaration
to her in person ? "

"No." Young O'Donnell had not. He was so white, so
wild, so despairing-looking, that the earl was getting alarmed.
A scene ! and oh, how he abhorred scenes ! " He had not
spoken to her on the subject — he never had — he wished to ob-
tain her father's consent first."

The earl grasped his hand with effusion.

"My lad, you're a gentleman from head to foot. I am proud
of you ! Have you — has she — I mean do you think your affec-
tion is returned ? Oh ! don't blush and look modest — it isn't
the most unlikely thing on earth. Do you think Cecil returns
your very — ah ! 'pon my life — ardent devotion ? "

Young O'Donnell stood looking handsome and modest before
him.

" He did not like to say — but he hoped."

" Oh, of course you do," the earl supplemented, " and very
strongly too. Well, my lad, you deserve something for the ad-
mirable and honorable manner in which you have acted, and
you shall have your reward. Cecil shall wait for you if she
wishes it ! No, don't thank me yet ; hear me out. You are
to spend this evening here, are you not ? Well, as you have
been silent so long, be silent yet a little longer. Don't say a
word to her. To-morrow morning I will lay all this before her
m}'self, and if she prefers the penniless Irishman to the rich
Cornishman, why, Heaven forbid / should force her affections !
1 can trust to you implicitly, I know, and this time to-morrow
come over to see us again, and you shall have your answer."

He would not listen to the young man's ardent thanks; he
pushed him good-naturedly away and arose.

"Thank me to-morrow^" he said, "if Queenie prefers love
in a cottage to thirty thousand a year — not before."

The sneer in his voice was imperceptible, but it was there.
Half an hour after the earl sought out Gregory, his valet and
manager.

"We leave at daybreak to-morrow morning, Gregory," he

AN IRISH ID YL.

said ; " Lady Cecil and I. You will remain behind, pack up
everything, and follow later in the day. Not a word, however,
to Lady Cecil."

That evening — the last — when Redmond O'Donnell's hair is
gray, I fancy it will stand out distinct from all other evenings
in his life. The wax-lit drawing-room, with its gay green car-
pet, its sparkling fire, its pictures, its wild natural flowers, its
books, its piano. Lord Ruysland, with a paper in his hand,
seated in his easy chair and watching the young people covertly
from over it ; Lady Cecil at the piano, the candle-light stream-
ing over her fair blonde face, her floating golden hair, her silvery
silk dress, her rings and ribbons. In dreary bivouacs, in the
silence and depth of African midnight, this picture came back
as vividly as he saw it then. In desolate desert marches, in the
fierce, hot din of battle, it flashed upon him. I-ying delirious
in the fever of gunshot wounds, in Algerian hospitals, it was of
this night, of her as he saw her then, he raved.

She sang for him all the songs he liked best'. He leaned over
the piano, his eyes on that fairest face, his ears drinking in that
dearest melody, silent, happy. They rarely found much to say
to one another when papa was present ; they had got past the
talking stage, and one word and two or three looks did the
business now. There was music, and silence, and bliss ; and
at ten o'clock it was all over, and time for him to go.

The last night ! She gave him her hand shyly and wistfully
at parting, and went up to her room. The earl gave him a
friendly clasp.

" To-morrow," he said, with a smile, " until to-morrow,
Redmond, my lad, good-night and au revoirT

The November wind was howling wildly through the moon-
light-flooded earth and sky. He did not see this cold splendor ;
he saw nothing, thought of nothing now but lovely Cecil Clive.

What a night that was — what a long tossing night of joy, of
hope, of fear, of longing. He did not despair — he was young
and sanguine, and hope had the best of it. He k7iew she loved
him ; had not looks, smiles, and blushes, a thousand and one
things pen and ink can never tell, assured him of it? andv/hat
to an angelic being like that was the dross of wealth, that it
should stand between two devoted hearts? Thirty thousand a
year — the Cornishman had that — how he hated that Cornish-
man ! Well, thirty thousand per annum is a good round sum,
but there was wealth in the world for the seeking, and the
labors of Hercules were as nothing compared to what he was

312

AN IRISH IDYL.

ready to undergo for her sake. An O'Donnell had made his
mark in Spain — McMahon in France — a AVellington in England
— all Irishmen good and true ; what they had done he would
do. Yes, the Cornishman and his fortune might go au diahle.
She would be true to her love and to him ; she would trust him
and wait.

Next morning, lest he should be tempted to break his prom-
ise, and his feet, in spite of him, take him to the cottage, he
mounted Kathleen and went galloping over the hills and far
away with the first peep of sunrise. The afternoon was far
advanced when he returned; the last slanting rays of the
autumn sunset were streaming ruby and orange over the smil-
ing moors as he knocked at the cottage door.

It was opened by grave, gentlemanly Mr. Gregory. Mr.
Gregory in hat and greatcoat, and everywhere litter, and
dust, and confusion. Carpets taken up, pictures taken down,
packing cases everywhere — an exodus evidently.

He turned pale with sudden terror. What did it mean ?
Where was she ? His heart was throbbing so fast, it seemed
to stop his very breath,

" Where is Lord Ruysland } " He turned almost savagely
upon Gregory, with pale face and excited eyes, but all the wild
Irishmen from Derry to Connaught were not going to upset the
equanimity of a well-trained English valet.

" Gone, Mr. Kedmond, sir — a sudding summons, I believe
it was. His lordship left about nine o'clock this morning, sir
— Lady Cecil halso. Which there is a note for you, Mr. Red-
mond, sir, which no doubt hexplains. Wait one moment, Mf
you please, and I'll fetch it."

He never spoke a word. He leaned against the door-post,
feeling sick and giddy, all things seeming in a mist. Mr.
Gregory returned, the note in his hand, a look of mingled
amusement and pity struggling with the national and pro-
fessional gravity of a Briton and a valet. Did he suspect the
truth ? Most likely — servants know everything. He placed it
in his hand ; the young man went forward a pace or two, and
the white door shut very quietly and decidedly behind him.
He tore it open ; it contained an inclosure. The earl had
very little to say — half a dozen Hues held Redmond O'Donnell's
sentence of doom.

** My Dear Boy :— I spoke to Cecil after you left. It is as I feared—
you have deceived yourself. Her promise binds her ; she has no wish nor
inclination to break it. And she had no idea of the state of jc'wr feelings.

AN IRISH IDYL.

She joins with me in thinking it best for all parties she should go at once —
another meeting could l^e but embarrassing to both. With real regrets,
and best wishes for your future, I am, my dear boy, sincerely yours,

" RUYSLAND."

The inclosed was in the slim, Italian tracery of Lady Cecil
— strangely cold and heartless words.

Mon Ami: — I am inexpressibly distressed. Papa has told me all.
What he said to you is true. My promise is given and must be kept. It
is best that I should go. Farewell 1 My eternal gratitude and friend-
ship are yours. Cecil."

Only that — so cold, so hollow, so heartless, so false ! The
golden sunshine, the green lime-trees, the violet heath turned
black for an instant before his eyes. Then he crumpled the
letters in his hand and walked away.

Mr. Gregory was watching from the window. Mr. Gregory
saw him stagger like a drunken man as he walked, and, some
twenty yards from the cottage, fling himself downward on the
waving heath, and He there like a stone. Mr. Gregory's mas-
culine sympathies weie touched.

"Pore young chap," he soliloquized. "Master's been and
given him the slip. He's fell in love with her ladyship, and
this 'ere's the hupshot. Sarves him right, of coorse — poor as a
church mouse — still he's a nice young fellar, and I quite pities
him. I remember 'ow I felt myself when 'Arriet Lelachur long
ago jilted ;/?^."

He by there for hours. The sun had set, the night, with its
stars and winds, had come, when he lifted his head off his arm,
and Mr. Gregory and the packing cases were miles away. His
haggard eyes fell on the notes he still held, and with a fierce
imprecation he tore them into atoms and scattered them far
and wide.

" And so shall I tear her — false, heartless, mocking jilt — out
of my life. Oh, God ! to think that every smile, every word,
every look was mockery ancf deceit — that she was fooling me
from the first, and laughing at my presumptuous folly, while I
thought her an angel. And he — while I live I'll never trust
man or woman again ! "

Are we not all unconsciously theatrical in the supreme hours
of our lives. He was now, although there was a heart-sob in
every word. And with them the boy's heart went out from
Redmond O'Donnell, and never came back again.
14

314

ITS ENGLISH READING.

CHAPTER XL

ITS ENGLISH READING.

ADY CECIL then was heartless — you say, a flirt, a
deceitful flirt, from first to last — luring with innocent
eyes and soft, childish smile, even at sixteen, only to
fling her victim away the moment her conquest was
made. Wait.

She had bidden Redmond good-night. There was a tender,
tremulous happiness in the soft hazel eyes that watched him
out of sight, a faint half-smile on the rosy, parted lips. She
scarcely knew what her new sky-bliss meant ; she never thought
of falling in love — was she not to marry Sir Arthur Tregerma ?
— only she knew she had never, never been half so happy be-
fore in all her life, and that Ireland was fairer and lovelier than
the " Islands of the Blessed" themselves.

"Good-night, papa," she said, taking her candle and turning
logo.

" Oh ! — wait a moment, Queenie, will you ? " her father
said, somewhat hurriedly ; " I want you to do a little copying
for me before you go to bed."

" Copying ? " She sat down her candle and looked at him
in wonder. He did not choose to meet those large, surprised
brown eyes.

"Yes, my dear. Don't look alarmed ; only a line or two.
Here it is. Copy it off, word for word, as I dictate."
" Write ' Mon Ami: "
She wrote it.

" / am inexpressibly distressed. Papa has told me all.
What he has said to you is true. My promise is given and
must be kept. It is best that I should go.'" Here Lady Cecil
came to a sudden, alarmed stop, and looked up with a greatly
disturbed face. " Go, papa," she said ; " what does all this
mean ? "

" Be kind enough to write on, and never mind asking ques-
tions," her father retorted, impatiently; "'best that I should
go.' You have that? Go on then. 'Farewell/ My eternal
gratitude a?td friefidship are yours: Now sign it ' Cecil:
That will do. Thanks, my dear. What a very pretty hand
you write, by the way."

" Papa," his daughter began, still with that disturbed face,

ITS ENGLISH READING.

<'whom is this written for ? What does it mean? I don't
understand."

*' Don't you ? Please don't ask too many questions —
curiosity has ever been the bane of your sex. Remember Eve
and Lot's wife, and be warned. Perhaps I want your auto-
graph. Apropos of nothing," he was very busily folding the.
note now. " Ther^se will wake you early to-morrow morning.
We start immediately after breakfast for Enniskillen."

" Enniskillen ! " She said it with a sort of gasp. " Papa,
are we — going away ? "

He laid down the letter, and looked her full, keenly, steadily
in the face. Her eyes shifted and fell under that pitiless
scrutiny.

*'And if we are, Queenie — what then? If I had said we
were going to the antipodes you would hardly look more aghast.
Your attachment to — ah, Torryglen, of course — must be very
strong, my dear, since the thought of leaving it affects you
thus."

She shrank away from his sneer as though he had struck her.
Her sensitive lips quivered, her face flushed. Again she took
her candle and turned to go.

" Good-night, papa." Her voice sounded husky, and the
earl watched the slight, fragile figure ascending the stairs, with
compressed lips and knitted brows.

" Not one second too soon," he thought. "Another week
and the mischief would have been irrevocably done. Given
a lonely country house, and two moderately well-looking peo-
ple, thrown constantly into propinquity, a love affair invariably
■ follows. My young friend O'Donnell, I thank you for speak-
ing in the nick of time. You have a pride that bears no pro-
I^ortion to your purse or prospects, and I think those two
polite little notes will effectually wind up your business."

Lady Cecil slept very little that night — a panic had seized
her. Going away ! did he know ? would she see him to say
good-by before she left? would they ever meet again? And
that note — what did that cold, formal note mean ? Whom was it
for ? Her cheeks were quite white, her eyes heavy, her step
slow, her tones languid, when she descended to breakfast. She
was already in her riding-habit, and the horses were saddled and
waiting. During breakfast her eyes kept turning to the door
and windows — up the valley road leading to the O'Donnell's
ruined keep. Would he come? The earl saw and smiled
grimly to himself

3i6 ITS ENGLISH REAZ>ING,

" No, my dear," he said, inwardly. " You strain your pretty
brown eyes for nothing — he will not come. A handsome lad
and a brave, but you have looked your last upon him."

They arose from breakfast — the hour of departure had come.
Then out of sheer desperation Lady .Cecil gathered courage
and spoke with a great gulp :

"Papa — does — does Mr. Donnellknow we — ^" She stopped,
unable to finish the sentence.

"Mr. O'Donnell," with bland urbanity, "well, I'm not quite
positive whether I mentioned to him yesterday our departure
or not. I shall leave him a note, however, of thanks and fare-
well. Of course it wasn't necessary to tell him, my dear — a
very fine fellow indeed, in his sphere, and much superior to
the rest of the peasantry — a little presumptuous, though, I
fancy of late. Come, Cecil — the horses wait, and 'time is on
the wing.' "

What could she say ? — what could she do ? There was pas-
sionate rebellion at her heart — pain, love, regret, remorse.
Oh, what would he think ? how basely ungrateful she would
appear in his eyes. How unkind — how cruel of papa, not to
have spoken last night before he left, and let them say good-by,
at least. She could hardly see the familiar landscape for the
passionate tears that filled her eyes. Here was the river — only
a placid stream now, where he had so heroically risked his life
to save hers, yonder the steep, black cliff up which he had
scrambled, at the risk of his neck, to gather a cluster of holly
she had longed for. There were the grim, rugged, lonely
towers and buttresses of the once grand old Irish castle, there
the spot where she had sat by his side hundreds of times
sketching the ruins. And now they were parting without one
word of farewell — parting forever !

They. rode on; the tower was reached. All the v/ay she
had scarcely spoken one word — all the way she had been
watching, watching vainly for him. They dined at Bally nahag-
gart, and started in the afternoon for Enniskillen. They made
no stay — only that one night ; in two days they were in
London.

They remained a week in the metropolis, at the residence of
a friend. The earl returning home to dinner one evening,
sought out his daughter, with an interesting item of news. In
Regent Street that day he had come suddenly upon whom did
she think? — their young Irish friend, Redmond O'Donnell.

She had been sitting at the window looking out at the twilit

ITS ENGLISH READING.

street. At the sound of that name she turned suddenly. How
wan and thin she had grown in a week — how dull the bright
brown eyes. Now a sudden Hght leaped into them — a swift,
hot flush of joy swept over her face.
" Papa ! Redmond ! You saw him ! "

" Yes, my dear," Lord Ruysland said, carelessly, " and look-
ing very well, too. I asked him to come here — said you would
be glad to see him — very sorry at having to leave Ireland
without an opportunity of saying good-by, and all that — but he
declined."

" He — declined ! " The pale lips could but just shape the
words.

" Yes, and rather discourteously, too. Said he did not mean
to stay in London over a week, and that his time would be
fully occupied. He did not even send you a message \ he
seemed filled with boyish elation over his own affairs. He is
going out to Algiers, he tells me, to seek active service under
the French flag. These hot-headed Irishmen are always ' spoil-
ing for a fight' He seemed in great spirits, and quite wild to
be off. But he might have found time to call, though, all the
same, I think, or even send you a message. It's 'out of sight,
out of mind,' with these hare-brained sort of people, though,
always. Go to the dickens to do any one a service, and for-
get them for good the instant they are out of their sight."

Dead silence answered hini. He tried to see his daughter's
face, but it was averted, and the gathering twilight hid it. He
need not have feared. She had all an English girl's " pluck."
Her eyes were flashing now, one little hand clenched hard, her
teeth set. She had liked him so much — so much, she had not
known one happy hour since they had left Ulster, for thinking
oihim ; and now he was in London, and refused to come to see
her — talked to her father, and would not even send his remem-
brances— on the eve of departure forever, it might be, and could
find no time to call and say good-by. She had thought of him
by day and dreamed of him by night, and he returned it —
like this !

" I'll never think of him again — never ! " she said, under her
breath. " I am glad, glad, glad he does not dream how much
I — I like him ! " — a great sob here. *' I'll never think of him
again, if I can."

If she could ! One thing is certain, she never uttered his
name from that hour, and slowly the sparkle came back to her
eyes, the old joyous ring to her laugh, and La Reine Blajiche

3i8

ITS ENGLISH READING.

was her own bright, glad self once more. Love'^ young
dream " had come and gone, had been born, and died a natural
death, and was decently buried out of sight. But this also is
certain — no second dream ever came to replace it. Good
men and true bowed down and fell before Lord Ruysland's
handsome, dark-eyed daughter ; names, titles, hearts, fortunes,
and coronets were laid at her feet, to be rejected. The world
could not understand. What did she mean ? What did she
expect ? She felt a sort of weary wonder, herself. Why could
she not return any of this love so freely lavished upon her ?
Men had asked her to be their wife whose affection and name
would have done honor to any woman, but she rejected them all.
Many of them touched her pity and her pride — not one her
heart. Her father looked on patiently, quite resigned. None
of these admirers were richer than his favorite, Sir Arthur Tre-
genna. Sir Arthur Tregenna, when the time came, she should
marry.

In all these years of conquest, and triumph, and pleasure she
had heard nothing of or from her Irish hero. Long before, per-
haps, his grave might have been made out yonder under the burn-
ing Arab sky; dead or alive, at least he was lost forever to her.
She could even smile now as she looked back upon that pretty,
poetic, foolish idyl of her first youth — smile to think what a
hero he had been in her eyes — how willingly she would have
given " all for love, and thought the world well lost " — smile to
think what simpletons love-sick girls of sixteen are.

And now six years were past, and he stood before her. Stood
before her changed greatly, and yet the same. It was a su-
perbly-soldierly figure — tall, stalwart, erect, strong but not stout
— muscular, yet graceful. The fresh, beardless face of the boy
she remembered she saw no longer ; the face of the man was
darkly bronzed by the burning Algerian sun ; a most becoming,
most desirable auburn beard and mustache altered the Avhole
expression of the lower part. It had a stern, something of a
tired look, the lips a cynical curve, the blue eyes a keen, hard
light, very different from their old honest simpHcity and frank-
ness. No ; this bronzed, bearded, Algerian chasseur was not
the Redmond O'Donnell she had known and liked so well, any
more than she was the blushing, tender heart of six years ago.

She stood for an instant looking at him. The surprise of
seeing him here^ as suddenly as though he had risen up out of
the earth, almost took her breath away. But for the Lady

ITS ENGLISH READING.

Cecil Clive to lose her self-possession long was not possible. A
second later, and she held out her hand to him with a smile
and glanced as bright, as frank, as pleasant as any that had
ever been given him by the Lady Cecil of Torryglen.

"It is — it is Captain O'Donnell. And after all those years !
And so changed by time, and whiskers, and Algerian campaign-
ing, that I may well be pardoned for doubting his identity."

He bowed with a smile over the little hand a brief instant,
then resigned it.

" Changed, no doubt— and not for the better ; grown old,
and gray, and grim. And you, too, have changed, Lady Cecil
— it might seem like flattery if I told you how greatly. And yet
I think I should have known you anywhere."

" Queenie has grown tall, and doesn't blush quite so often as
she used at Torryglen," her father interposed. "You have had
many hair-breadth escapes by flood and field since we saw you
last, but I don't think you ever had a narrower one than that
evening when we saw you first. Oh, well — perhaps excepting
yesterday at the picnic."

Captain O'Donnell laughed — the old, pleasant, mellow laugh
of long ago — and showed very white teeth behind his big
trooper's mustache,

" Yes, the risk was imminent yesterday ; my nerves have
hardly yet recovered the shock of that — tempest in a teapot.
I am glad to find the lady I rescued so heroically from that
twopenny-halfpenny squall is none the worse for her wetting."

" Here she comes to answer for herself," returned the earl,
as his niece came sailing up on the arm of Major Frankland.
''Major Frankland, behold the preserver of your life from the
hurricane yesterday. Lady Dangerfield has already thanked
him. Major Frankland, my friend Captain O'Donnell."

Major Frankland bowed, but he also frowned and pulled his
whisker. Why need the fellow be so confoundedly good-look-
ing, and why need women make such a howling over a trifle ?
He hadn't even risked a wet jacket for Lady Dangerfield — he had
risked nothing, in fact ; and here she was for the second time
pouring forth her gratitude with an efilision and volubility sicken-
ing to hear. Captain O'Donnell bore it all like the hero he was,
and stood with his " blushing honors thick upon him," perfectly
cool, perfectly easy, perfectly self-possessed.

" So yoti were the knight to the rescue, Captain O'Donnell ? "
Lady Cecil said, with a laugh that had a shadow of her father's
scarcasm in it. " I might have known it if I had known you

320

ITS ENGLISH READING,

were in the neighborhood at all. You have an amiable mania
for saving people's lives. It reminds me of declining a verb.
First person singular, he saves my life, second person singular
he saves your life, third person singular he saves his life — mean-
ing Sir Arthur over yonder. Really, if the tournament and tilt-
ing days were not over you might ride forth a veritable knight-
errant with visor closed, and corselet clasped, and lance in rest,
to the rescue of fair maidens and noble dames in danger. But
all this while, papa, you do not tell us what good fortune has
sent Captain O'Donnell to Sussex, of all places in the world."

''And why not to Sussex, Lady Cecil? One could hardly
select a fairer county to ruralize in. However, the choice on
this occasion was not mine, but my sister's. She wished to
come — why. Heaven knows — I never presume to ask the rea-
son of a lady's whim. She wished to come to Sussex, to Castle-
ford, and — here we are."

"Your sister?" Lady Cecil said, interested. "Yes, Mr.
Wyatt told me in town she was with you ; in ill health, too, I
am almost afraid he said."

"In very ill health," the chasseur answered, gravely; "and
I can set her anxiety to visit this place down to nothing but an
invalid's meaningless whim. My great hope is that its gratifi-
cation may do her good."

"Your sister here, and sick, Captain O'Donnell?" Lady
Dangerfield cut in, " and we not know it ? Abominable !
Where are you staying ? "

" In very pleasant quarters," with a smile at her brusqueric ;
" at the Silver Rose."

" Very pleasant for an Algerian soldier, perhaps — not so
pleasant for an invalid lady. Your sister comes here. Cap-
tain O'Donnell — oh, I insist upon it — and shall make Scars-
wood her home during her stay. You too — Sir Peter and I
will be most happy ; indeed we shall take no excuse."

But Captain O'Donnell only listened and smiled that inexora-
ble smile of his.

" Thanks very much ; you are most kind ; but of course, it
is quite impossible."

" No one ever says impossible to me, sir," cries my lady, im-
perially. " Miss O'Donnell — is she Miss O'Donnell, by the bye ?
She is. Very well, then, Lady Cecil and I will call upon
Miss O'Donnell to-morrow at the Silver Rose, and fetch her
back with us here — that's decided."

''Gadl my dear," interrupted Lord Ruysland, "if you can

ITS ENGLISH READING,

321

prevail upon O'Donnell to say yes when O'Donnell has made
up his mind to say no, then you are a greater diplomat than I-
ever gave you credit for. Ton my life you should have seen
and heard the trouble /had to induce him to honor Scarswood
with his presence even for a few moments to-night. Said it
wasn't worth while, you know — intended to leave in a week or
so — didn't want to put in an appearance at all, by George,
even to see jf^'/^ again, Queenie, one of his oldest friends."

" It is characteristic of Captain O'Donnell to treat his friends
with profound disregard. Not over flattering to us, is it,
Ginevra? By the way, though, I should have thought you
would have liked to see Sir Arthur Tregenna again, at least.
He certainly would have put himself to considerable incon-
venience for the pleasure of meeting

"What!" O'Donnell said, his eyes lighting with real plea-
sure, " Tregenna here ! You are right, Dady Cecil ; I shall be
glad to meet him again — the best fellow ! — Ah ! I see him — ■
very pleasantly occupied he appears to be, too."

" Flirting with the governess," put in the earl, stroking his
iron-gray mustache. " Miss Herncastle must have something
to say for herself, then, after all ; she has succeeded in amusing
Tregenna longer and better than I ever saw him before since
he came here. How is it she comes to be among us to-night,
Ginevra ? Her first appearance, is it not ? — and very unUke
your usual tactics."

" Queenie would have it," Lady Dangerfield answered, with
a shrug ; " she persists in making the governess one of the
family."

"Oh, Queenie w^ould have it, would she ?" the earl respond-
ed, thoughtfully looking at his daughter. " Very considerate of
Queenie, and she likes to have the baronet amused — naturally.
Captain O'Donnell, you honor Miss Herncastle with a very
prolonged and inquisitive gaze — may I ask if you have fallen a
victim as well as Sir Arthur ? "

"A victim? Well no, I think not I am trying to recollect
where I have seen Miss Herncastle before."

" What ! " cried Lady Dangerfield ; " you too ? Oh, this is
too much. First Lord Ruysland, tlien Sir Peter Dangerfield,
now Captain O'Donnell, all are transfixed at sight of my
nursery governess, and insist that, dead or alive, they have met
her before. Now where was it you knew her, Mon Capitaine ?
Surely not in Algiers ? "

"Not in Algiers, certainly. Where I have seen her before,
14*

322

ITS ENGLISH READING.

I cannot tell ; seen her I have, that is positive — my memory
for facts and faces may be trusted. And hers is not a face to
be seen and forgotten, yet just now I cannot place it."

" Our waltz, I believe, Lady Cecil ! " exclaimed a gentleman,
coming up and salaaming before her. It was Squire Talbot, of
Morecambe ; and Lady Cecil, with a few last smiling words
over her white shoulder to the chasseur, took his proffered arm
and moved away.

" How strange," she was thinking, " that Captain O'Donnell
should have known her too. Really, Miss Herncastle is a most
mysterious personage. Why is it, I wonder, that she attracts
and fascinates me so? It isn't that I like her — I don't; I
doubt, I distmst her. Yet I like to look at her, to hear her talk,
to wonder about her. How rapt Sir Arthur looks ! /never
succeeded in enchaining him like that. Four hours ago he was
on the brink of asking me to be his wife — now he looks as
though there were not another woman in the scheme of the uni-
verse than Helen Herncastle. Am I jealous, I wonder? — do
I really want to marry him after all? Am I the coquette they
call me ? "

She smiled bitterly as she looked toward them. Squire Tal-
bot caught that look and followed it.

"Eh! Quite a flirtation going on there, certainly." He
was rather obtuse — the squire. "Didn't think Sir Arthur was
much of a lady's man, but. gad ! to-night he seems — oh, good
Heaven ! "

He stopped short — he stared aghast. Miss Herncastle had
lifted her stately head from the book of engravings and turned
her face full toward them. And for the first time Squire Tal-
bot saw her.

Lady Cecil looked at him and laughed outright. Amaze,
consternation, horror, were actually pictured upon his face.

" What ! another ! Upon my word the plot thickens rapidly.
You, too, have known Miss Herncastle then in some other
and better world ? Is she destined to strike every gentleman
she meets in this sensational manner ? "

" Miss — what did you call her. Lady Cecil? Good Ged ! I
never saw such a resemblance. Upon my sacred honor, Lady
Cecil, I thought it was a ghost ! "

" Of course — that's the formula — they all say that. Whose
ghost do you take her for. Squire Talbot ? "

" Katherine Dangerfield, of course — poor Kathie. It is —
Good Ged ! — it is as hke her as — " the squire pulled out his

ITS ENGLISH READING.

cambric and wiped his flushed and excited face. give you
my word, I never saw such a resemblance. Except that this
lady has darker hair, and yes — yes, I think — and is taller and
more womanly — she is — " again the squire paused, his con-
sternation only permitting disconnected sentences. " I never
saw anything like it — never, I give you my honor. What does
Sir Peter say ? He must have noticed it, and gad, it can't be
pleasant for him.''^

Sir Peter has been in a collapsed and horrified state ever
since she entered Scarswood. Oh, yes ! he sees it — not a
doubt of that. Miss Herncastle, is like one of Wilkie CoUins'
novels — the interest intensifies steadily to the end — the * Man
in the Iron Mask ' was plain reading compared to her. Really,
if she keeps frightening people in this way, I greatly fear Lady
Dangerfield must send her away. A living ghost can't be a
pleasant instructress of youth."

''She does not seem to frighten Sir Arthur Tregenna, at
least," said Squire Talbot, beginning to recover from his sudden
shock. "And so she is only the governess. I never saw such
a resemblance — never in all my Hfe. What would Edith say,
I wonder, if she could see it ? "

" Edith ? "

" My sister, you know — used to be Katherine Dangerfield's
bosom friend and confidante — married now, you know — De
Vere of the Plungers — and gone to south of France for her
health. Gad! I don't think it would be safe to let them
meet — she's nervous, Edith is — took Katherine' s death, poor
girl, very deeply to heart; and if she came suddenly upon this
— this fac-simile, by George ! of her friend, I wouldn't answer
for the consequences. Never saw such a striking resemblance
in all my life."

And then they whirled away in their waltz. How strange !
how strange ! Lady Cecil kept thinking. Perhaps that was
why her eyes rarely wandered from these two at the table.
No one interrupted them. It was a most pronounced flirta-
tion. Even Captain O'Donnell declined the request of his
hostess and the earl that he should go up and speak to his
friend."

"By no means," he said, with a smile ; "that can wait. It
would be a pity to interrupt him — he seems so well amused.'*

It was Miss Herncastle herself who broke up the tete-a-tete.
Sir Arthur had become so interested, so absorbed in his com-
panion and the pictures, as to quite forget the flight of time.

324

ITS ENGLISH READING,

Women never forget the proprieties, Ics convejiances, in any
situation of life. She arose, Lady Cecil still watching her with
a curiously set and interested expression, spoke a few last half-
smiling words, and hurried awa)^ Like a man awakening from
a dream, she saw Sir Arthur rise. No, Lady Cecil, you never
succeeded in holding him spell-bound in this way, with all
your beauty, all your brilliance. Then from an inner room she
saw the tall chasseur make his way through the crowd, and ap-
proach. She could even hear his deep mellow tones, "Tre-
genna, my dear fellow, how goes it?" Then with a look of
real pleasure lighting up his grave face, she saw the Cornish
baronet clasp the hand of the Irish soldier of fortune. Was
there anything in the sight of the cordial hand-clasp of those
two men unpleasant to the sight of Lady Cecil Clive ? Over
the fair face an irritated flush came, into the brown, bright eyes
a sudden, swift, dark anger passed. She turned away from
the sight to her next partner, and for the rest of the night
danced and flirted without intermission. Ller laugh was gayer,
her eyes brighter, her cheeks rosier than any there had ever
seen them before. Bright at all times, some touch of feverish
impatience and anger within made her positively dazzling
to-night.

The "festive hours" drew to a close ; the guests were fast
departing. The music was pealing forth its last gay strains, as
for the first moment she found herself alone. No touch of
fatigue dimmed the radiance of that perfect face ; that starry
light gave her eyes the gleam of dark diamonds ; the fever rose-
tint was deeper than ever on her cheek, when looking up she
saw approaching Lady Dangerfield on the arm of Captain
O'Donnell. — Sir Arthur, stately and dignified, on her other
hand. Her brilliant ladyship was vivaciously insisting upon
something, the chasseur laughingly but resolutely refusing.

"Oh, here you are, Queenie ! " her ladyship impatiently
cried. " What an inveterate dancer you are becoming. It was
fatiguing only to watch you to-night. Perhaps you will succeed
where I fail. You and Captain O'Donnell appear to be old
friends ; try if you can prevail upon him and overcome his
obstinacy."

" To overcome the obstinacy of Captain O'Donnell I know
of old to be an impossible task. But to please you, Ginevra !
On what particular point is our Chasseur d'Afrique obstinate
now ? "

*' I want him to leave the inn at Castleford, with his sister,

ITS ENGLISH READING.

and come here. The idea of stopping at an inn — a lady, too
— preposterous ! Sir Peter insists, / insist. Uncle Raoul in-
sists, Sir Arthur insists — all in vain. And I used to think
Irishmen the most gallant and yielding of men — could not
possibly say no to a lady if they tried. I shall have another
opinion of Captain O'Donneli's countrymen after to-night."

"You will comQ" La Reine Blanche said, with a glance of
her long, luminous eyes, that had done fatal service ere to-
night. Few men had ever the moral courage to say no to
those bewitching eyes. " You will. Our motto is ' The More
the Merrier.' We will do our best not to bore you. Scars-
wood is a pleasanter place than the Silver Rose. You will
come — / wish it."

" And nobody ever says no to Queenie," Lady Dangerfield
gayly added ; " her rule is absolute monarchy."

He looked down into the beautiful, laughing, imperial face,
and bent low before her, with all the gallantry of an Irishman,
all \hQ debojtnaire oi a Frenchman.

"I can believe it, Lady Dangerfield. And that La Reine
Blanche may have the pleasure of a new sensation, permit me
to say it — for once. To please Lady Cecil — what is there
mortal man would not do ? In this trivial matter she will,
however, let me have my own obstinate way. If the Peri had
never dwelt in Paradise, she would not have wept in leaving.
I may be weak, but past sad experience has taught me wisdom.
I take warning by the fate of the Peri."

His tone was very gentle, his smile very pleasant, but his
will was invincible. The velvet glove sheathed a hand of iron ;
this was not the Redmond O'Donnell she had known— the im-
petuous, yielding lad, to whom she had but to say " come," and
he came — "go," and he went. Was she testing her own
power ? If so, she failed signally. As he turned to go to the
cloak-room she heard him humming a tune under his breath, a
queer, provoking half-smile on his face. She caught the fag
end of the words ;

" For the bird that is once in the toils, my dear.
Can never be caught with chaff."

That half-amused, half-knowing smile was still on his mus-
tached lips as he bade her a gay good-night, and was gone.
The Irish Idyl had been written, and this was its English reading.

326

^'THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY:'

CHAPTER XII.

"the battle of fontenoy."

^g^gjlHE small parlor of the Silver Rose looked very much
^g^n to-day as it had done this day six years, when little
l^y^H Mrs. Vavasor had been its occupant. A trifle dustier
and rustier, darker and dingier, but the same ; and in
one of its venerable, home-made arm-chairs, under its open
front windows, sat another little lady, looking with weary eyes,
up and down the street. It was Rose O'Donnell — the captain's
sister. She was a little creature, as petite as Mrs. Vavasor her-
self, of fairy-like, fragile proportions, a wan, moonlight sort of
face, lit with large, melancholy eyes. Those somber, blue eyes,
under their black brows and lashes, reminded you of her
brother ; the rich, abundant brown hair, that was but a warmer
shade of black, was also his ; otherwise there was no resem-
blance. In repose the expression of that wan, small face was
one of settled sadness ; at intervals, though, it lit up into a
smile of wonderful brightness and sweetness, and then she was
more like her brother than ever. She wore gray silk, without
ribbon, or lace, or jewel, and she looked hke a little Quakeress,
or a small, gray kitten, coiled up there in her big chair. She
was quite alone, her delicate brow knit in deep and painful
thought, her hands clasping and unclasping nervously in her lap,
her great eyes fixed on the passers-by, but evidently not seeing
them.

" This is the place," she said to herself, in a sort of whisper;
" this is the town, and Scarswood was the house. At last — at
last ! But how will it end ? Must I go on to my grave knowing
nothing — nothing — whether he be living or dead, or am I to find
out here ? If I only dared tell Redmond — my best brother,
my dearest friend — but 1 dare not. If he be alive, and they
met, he would surely kill him."

An inner door opened, and her brother, a. straw sombrero
in one hand, a fishing-rod in the other, came in with his sounding
trooper tread.

"Rose," he said hurriedly, "I did not mention it at break-
fast, but I was absent last night. I met an old acquaintance,
and he insisted upon taking me with him. I spent the
evening at Scarswood Park."

''THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY:'

Scarswood Park ! " It was almost a startled cry, but he
did not notice it.

"Yes, Scarswood Park — place some three or four miles off —
belonging to Sir Peter Dangerfield. Didn't see Sir Peter — saw
my lady, though, and — here is where the interest comes in.
She insists upon your leaving this hostelry and becoming her
guest."

" I ! "

" Yes. I chanced to do her some trifling service the other
day — absurdly trifling to make such a fuss over — and she insists
upon magnifying a mole-hill into a mountain, saying I saved
her life and all that. She is really the most hospitable lady I
ever met — wanted to insist upon us both pitching our tents in
Scarswood. For myself, I declined, and do so still, of course ;
but for you — I have been thinking it over, and am not so sure.
This isn't just the place of all places I should choose for you ;
perpetual skittles in a back-yard caiHt be agreeable to a well-
constructed female mind. They are going to call to-day, and
if they insist, and you prefer it, why, go with them, if you
will."

"They — Sir Peter and Lady Dangerfield, do you mean?"

" No ; Lady Dangerheld and her cousin, the Lady Cecil
Clive. By the bye, I neglected to mention that I knew Lady
Cecil and her father. Lord Ruysland, years ago, in Ireland.
They're very civil and all that, and if they insist, as I said, and
you prefer it — ^"

Her large eyes lit with an eager light.
There can be no question as to my preference, brother ;
but if you object to it in any way — "

" Oh, I don't object. I would just as soon — sooner, indeed
— you went, as you insist upon staying in this place at all. I
shall remain here, and run down to see you every day until you
have had enough of Castleford and Scarswood. And now, an
revoir for the day — I'm going fishing."

He left the room whistling, flinging his sombrero carelessly
on his dark curls, and throwing his fishing-rod over his shoulder.
His sister watched his tall figure out of sight.

" So he knew this Lady Cecil years ago, in Ireland, and never
told me ! Odd ! I wonder if Lanty knew her ! I shall ask."

As if the thought had evoked him, e?tie?' Lanty Lafferty, a
brush in one hand, a pair of his master's riding-boots in the
other, darkened by an Algerian sun, otherwise not a whit
changed by the wear and tear of six years' soldiering. He

328

''THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY,''

deposited the boots on the hearth-rug, and stepped back, like
a true artist, to survey his work.

"Thim's thim," said Lanty, an' polished till ye might
a' most shave yersilf in thim. Miss Rose, alanna! is ther any-
thing in the wurruld wide I can do for ye ? Shure me very
heart's broke intirely since we kem to this place, wid sorra
hand's turn to do from mornin' till night."

"What! And you complain of that, Lanty! "his young
mistress said, with a smile. " Now, I should tliink you would
be glad of a holiday after your active life out in Algiers. Surely
you are not longing so soon to be off again soldiering ? "

" Sodgering, is it? Oh, thin, 'tis wishin' it well I am for
sodgering. Sorra luck or grace is thir about sich murtherin'
work. I'm not sayin' agin lightin', mind; thir wasn't a boy in
the barony fondher av a nate bit av a scrimmag thin meself ;
but out there among thim black haythins av Arabs, an' thim
little svvearin' divils av Frinchmin, that wor wurse nor onny
haythin — oh, thin, sweet bad luck to it all ! Shure, what the
captain can see in it bates me intirely. As if it wasn't bad
enough to be starved on black bread an' blacker soup, an' if
ye said 'pays' about it, called up afore a coort-martial an' shot
in the clappin' av yer hands. Faith, it turns me stomach this
minute whin I think av all the tidy boys I've seen ordhered
out at daybreak to kneel on thir own coffins an' be shot down
like snipe for mebbe stickin' a frindly Arab, or givin' a word av
divilment or divarshun to thir shuparior officer. May ould
Nick fly away wid Algiers an' all belongin' to it afore Misther
Redmond takes it into his head to go back there again. It's
little I thought this tiuie six years that I'd iver set fut in it or
any other haythin Ian' like it, whin Misther Redmond an' that
beautiful young slip, the lord's daughter, wor coortin' beyant
in Torrj'glen. Faix ! it's marred I thought they'd be long an'
many a day ago, wid mebbe three or four fine childer growin'
up about thim an' myself dhry-nurse to thim same. But, oh,
wirra ! shure the Lord's will be done ! "

Mr. Lafferty, with a sort of groan over the hoUowness of
human hope, shook his head, took a last admiring look at the
glitter of the master's boots, and then turned to depart ; but
the young lady detained him.

" It's a harrowing case, Lanty. Don't be in a hurry. So
the lord (I suppose you allude to Lord Ruysland, and don't
mean anything irreverent,) and his daughter were in Ireland
then before you ever went to Algiers ? "

*'THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY^

"Ay; ye may well say they wor. An' maybe it isn't in
Algiers we'd be to this day av it wasn't for thin). Heaven for-
give me, but the thought o' thim goes between me an' me
night's sleep. Och ! but it's the desavin' pair tliey wor. But
shure what betther cud ye expect — didn't the English iver an'
always discave the Irish — the curse o' Cromwell on thim !
There they wor — an' it's the smile and civil word an' the ' God
save ye kindly, Misther Reduiond acushalla,' they had for him
until a blind man cud see the sthate he was in. Sorra a hate
they did but coort — Misther Redmond and herself — an' the
ould lord lookin' on as plazed as Punch. Ay, faith, an' their
looks an' their picters — wasn't she foriver taken off the old
rocks and the castle an' meself, for that mather as if I was a
baste. An' thin, whin it's wantin' to marry her he was — sliure
I could see it — by the powers ! it's up an' away they wor like
a shot, without as much as a good-by to ye, or go the divil, or
the laste civihty in life. An' the young masther — troth ! it 'ud
take a dhrop from ye if it was the last in yer eye — to see the
shtate he was in, naither aitin' nor slapin', and fallin' away to
dog-dhrive afore me very eyes. An' thin all at once Algiers
kem in his head, an' he was off hot foot. Ye might as well
thry to sthop Torrybahm whin it's spouhtin, as sthop him whin
he takes a notion into his head. An' av coorse I wint wid
him — didn't I mind him an' look afther him since he was a
weeny crathure in my arrums. She was an inticin' young slip,
I say, but upon my conscience, av she was tin lords' daughters,
it was a mane-shpirited way to sarve him, afther him savin' her
life, too. Divil a dirthier trick iver I heerd tell of."

Rose O'Donnell smiled bitterly.

" A very common thing in her world, I take it, Lanty. And
that's Redmond's secret? and I am to see her? She was
pretty, you say, Lanty?"

'"The purtiest darlin' iver me eyes looked at, barrin' yer-
silf."

"Thanks, Lanty. Barring myself — that's understood, of
course. Was she fair or dark ? "

She asked the question with a woman's minute curiosity
about such things. It was so hopelessly dull here at the
" Silver Rose," that she felt strongly incUned to accept the in-
vitation to Scarswood Park, if that mvitation were tendered.

" Fair," responded Mr. Lafferty ; " a skin like the shnow on
the mountains, hair like sthramin ' goold, an' eyes — oh musha !
bad scran to thim, the beauties o' the worruld that they wor ;

330

" THE BATTLE OF FONTENOVr

sure it's no wondher at all Masther Redmond wint out o' his
head a'most about her. Troth she was purty, Miss Rose ; it
used to do me good only to look at her ; an' wid iver an'
always a smile on her beautiful face, an' a civil word for ye
whiniver ye'd meet her. But I always said, an' I say again, it
wasn't the action av a rale lady to thrate masther as she did,
not av she wor twinty earls' daughters. It's like a gintleman
from Ireland, an' an Irish gintleman ; av ye wern't tould the
difference shure ye might think tJiey wor the same."
" And aren't they, Lanty ? "

" Sorra taste — there's all the difference in life. A gintleman
from Ireland is anybody, faith — meself an' the likes o' me, for
that matter ; and av ye come to that, the Laffertys wor the
hoith o' quahty whin the O'Donnells wor kings and quanes.
But an Irish gintleman ! Oh, be me Sokins ! an Irish gintle-
man's a gintleman mdade^

But Lanty's mistress did not hear the last of this eloquent
explanation. She was gazing from behind the window curtain
at a stately barouche, containing two elegantly dressed ladies,
which had just driven up before the door. Lady Dangerfield
and the Lady Cecil Clive, she felt sure — no such visitors ever
stopped at the doorway of the Silver Rose.

The bowing and obsequious landlord and landlady bustled
out to meet the distinguished arrivals.

A moment later, and the cards of the two ladies were borne
upstairs and presented to Miss Rose O'Donnell.

"You will show them up here immediately, Mrs. Norton,"
she said to the dipping hosfeess of the Silver Rose.

And then, with a soft rustle of silk and musUn, a faint, sweet
perfume, the baronet's pdife wife and the earl's tall, graceful
daughter were in the shabby parlor of the inn.

Rose O'Donnell came forward to meet and greet them with
a calm, high-bred composure that was very perfect. In her
southern home she was not, perhaps, accustomed to ladies of
title, but she certainly had mingled in the highest society of New
Orleans. How pretty she was, and how like those dark large
eyes of blue were to her brother's. It was Lady Cecil's first
thought, and as their hands clasped, and Cecil's grave, sweet
blue eyes were lifted to her face, she stooped down with a sud-
den, swift impulse and kissed her. From that hour these two
were ever warmest friends.

" I think 1 should have known you anywhere. Miss O'Don-
nell," Lady Dangerfield said, "you are so like your brother —

** THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY.''

only wanting that half-cynical, half-sarcastic air he and all men
nowadays, it seems to nic, wear. I suppose he is one of the
believers in the * Nothing is new, and nothing is true, and it
don't signify' doctrine; he looks as though he were. He has
told you, of course, how lie saved my life two days ago, when
our boat upset ? "

" Saved your life ! Indeed, he has not."

Lady Cecil laughed softly.

"That's like Captain O'Donnell — 'on their own merits mod-
est men are dumb ; ' and he is very modest. He saved mine
too — did he ever tell you that ? "

" No," Rose said, with an amused smile ; " but Lanty has.
Perhaps, however, you have forgotten Lanty ? "

" Lanty — Lanty Lafiferty — is he here ? How glad I shall be
to see h.im. Forget JVLr. Lafierty ! Not likely ; he was my
first love. I don't think he ever knew it, and in all those years
no one has ever replaced him."

Lady Dangerfield looked at her laughing cousin with some-
thing of a malicious gleam in her black eyes.

"Substituting the name of Redmond O'Donnell for that of
Lanty Lafferty, I dare say what she says may be true enough,"
she thought. " I should like to read the record of those seven
Irish weeks, my handsome Cecil, and see if I could not find
the key to your noted indifference to all men. Miss O'Don-
nell," aloud, " at least I hope that secretive brother of yours
has told you we came to tender the hospitality of Scarswood
Park — to insist indeed upon your becoming our guest. If
you knew how much we desire it, I am sure you would not
refuse us this pleasure We are all most anxious — Sir Peter,
myself, Lady Cecil — all. It must be so horribly dull for you
here alone, for of course Captain O'Donnell, like all of his
kind, brothers and husbands, is no company whatever. Except
as lovers, men might as well be images of wood, for all the
pleasure one has in their society, and even then they are bores
to all but one. We will take no denial ; we positively insist
upon it."

Slie was really in earnest — she really wished it most eagerly.
Whenever a new fancy struck her, she hunted it down with the
feverish intensity of an aimless, idle life, and she had a fancy
for this pale, silent young Irishwoman becoming her guest.
Pier liking for the brother extended to the sister, and through
her artificial manner sincere cordiality shone now.

"You will come?" Lady Cecil added, with a smile and a

332

''THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY."

glance that went straight to Rose O'Donnell's heart. Your
brother was hopelessly obstinate last night ; don't make us
think obstinacy is a family fainng. You will come, and this
evening ; Scarswood is the pleasantest country house I know
of."

There could be no doubting the sincerity of the invitation — ■
none but a very churl could have refused. Rose O'Donnell, under
a cloud just at present, was-the farthest possible from a churl.
With a smile that again made her excessively like her brother,
she promised, and the ladies from the Park arose to go."

" The carriage shall come for you this evening," Lady Dan-
gerfield said. "Your brother will accompany you, and dine
with us, at least; This evening at six, then, we shall expect
you."

And then the cousins swept away down the narrow stairs,
where such shining visitors were rarely seen, and into the ba-
rouche, and away through the July sunshine back to lunch-
eon.

"Pretty," was Lady Dangerfield's verdict, "but passce.
Looks as though she were in trouble of some sort. Crossed in
love, probably," with a short laugh, "out in her American
French city."

" She is in ill health ; did not Captain O'Donnell say so ? "
replied Lady Cecil with grave rebuke. " It is a lovely face to
niy mind — brunette with blue eyes — a rare type."

" It is a feminine repetition of Redmond O'Donnell's face ;
the eyes and smile are as like as they can be. He is very
handsome, very dashing, very distinguished, Queenie," mali-
ciously; "how is it you never chanced to tell me you spent
seven long weeks with him among the hills of Ulster ? "

If she expected to see hesitation or embarrassment in her
cousin's face, she was mistaken. That proud, fair face, those
luminous dark eyes, those lovely lips kept their secret — if secret
there were — well.

" Hardly with him, I think — with papa, Ginevra. And really,
how was I to tell the circumstance would interest you? — that
you would honor Redmond O'Donnell with such signal marks
of your favor? It would be some trouble to keep you ate
f:(?2/r(2;?/ of all my gentlemen acquaintances."

" And he saved your life ; and you were only sixteen, and
he — was he as eminently good-looking six years ago as he is
to-day, Queenie?"

*' Better, to my mind," Lady Cecil responded, calmly ; " he

**THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY."

333

looks blase and cynical now, as you say. He had not worn
out his trust in all mankind then ; and I confess I rather prefer
people who haven't outUved all faith in their fellow-creatures,
and who have one or two human emotions left."

" My dear," Lady Dangenield said, laughing, he has had
the misfortune to know La Reine Blanche. Did you flesh
your maiden sword upon him, I wonder ? You had to begin
your career with some one — as well a wild young Irishman as
anything else. And you have been so reticent, my dear, on the
subject — too tender to be touched. No, don't be angry; it
isn't worth while, and might spoil your appetite for game pie
and Moselle. You knew Reduiond O'Donnell six years ago,
and — you are to marry Sir Arthur Tregenna — next year is it ?
What a farce life is, or a tragedy, which ? "

" Life is what we make it," Lady Cecil answered, v/ith a little,
bitter smile ; " a tragedy to howl over, or a comedy to laugh
at. The wiser philosophy is to laugh, I believe, since it is out
of our power to alter or decide over fate. There is Miss Hern-
castle gathering flov/ers ; how fond she seems to be of flowers !
What a dark, somber face she has ! — what an extraordinary
person altogether — like the heroine of a romance. But then
governesses always (^r(? heroines, are they not ? — ^prime favorites
with "novelists. I rather fear she has found life too dark a
tragedy, by any possibility to make a jest of."

" She is the best embroideress I ever saw," Lady Danger-
field said, sweeping her silken robes up the sunlit stairs. " I
found it out by chance yesterday. Her work in lace and cam-
bric is something marvelously beautiful. I had some thought
of sending her away — one doesn't want a person about the
house who terrifies every one she meets — but now I shall retain
her. Her embroideries are worth three hundred a year to me,
and she certainly has accepted a very low salary."

She certainly had, and that was a great consideration with
my lady. As has been said, long years' bitter battle with pov-
erty had taught her the value of wealth, and though she squan-
dered Sir Peter's income recklessly on her own pleasure and
gratification, she yet could be unspeakably mean in small things.
Now that she had discovered how useful she could make Miss
Herncastle, she resolved not only to retain her, but to patron-
ize her. Miss Herncastle also had exquisite taste and judgment
in all matters pertaining to the toilet — why not dismiss her
maid by and by, and install this useful and willing nursery
governess in her place ?

334

''THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY:'

Miss O'Donnell came over from Castleford in the gray of
tlie summer evening, with her belongings, but alone. Sir Ar-
thur Tl'egenna had sought out the chasseur at his fishing stream,
and the twain would return together to dinner. She was shown
to her room, and exchanged her dark gray dress for a dinner
robe of blue silk, the hue of her eyes, and descended to find her
hostess and cousin spending the long hour before dinner on the
velvety lawn sloping away beneath the long, wide, open
French window of the drawing-room. The children were at
play on the terrace below, where gaudy peacocks strutted in
the sun, a million leaves fluttered cool and green above them,
and birds caroled in the dark shade of the branches. Miss
Herncastle, in her gray silk dress, sat at a little distance, her
fingers flying among my lady's laces. Lady Cecil bent over a
book, her fair, delicate face and slight, graceful figure outlined
against the golden and purple light of the sunset, lilies in her
bronze hair, a cluster of field lifies on her breast — tall, sfim,
sweet. My lady leaned back lazily in her rustic chair, doing
nothing — it was an amiable trait in this lady's character that
she never did do anything — beautifully dressed, powdered,
painted, coiffured, and awaiting impatiently the arrival of the
dinner hour and the gentlemen. Major Frankland was absent
with the earl, and her husband of course, whether in his "Study
or out of it, did not count. In the absence of ^the nobler sex,
my lady always collapsed on principle — gaping piteously. She
never read, she never v/orked, she never thought. Society and
adulation were her stimulants — in their absence life became an
unbearable bore.

She hailed the advent of Rose O'Donnell now with relief
She couldn't talk to the governess — that were too great conde-
scension— the children were noisy nuisances, and Lady Cecil
was interested in her book. The waving trees, the flushed sky,
the sleeping sea, the silent emerald earth — all the fair evening
prospect had no charm for her,

"You find us alone yet, Miss O'Donnell," she said, as Rose
took a seat near. " Our fishermen have not returned, and sol-
itude invariably bores me to death. Cecil has taken to Htera-
ture, as you see, and is company for no one. I never read.
Miss O'Donnell — books are all alike, hopelessly stupid nowa-
days. What is that you have there, Queenie ? "

Lady Cecil looked up.

"Ballads of Ireland. I came upon it by chance in the
library half an hour ago. I am reading the battle of Fontenoy.

''THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY^

335

Miss O'Donnell, did any of your ancestors fight at the battle of
Fontenoy ? "

"So the legends of our house say, at least. *And by the
same token,' as Lanty would observe, it was a Redmond
O'Donnell who fought and fell on the fatal field of Fontenoy."

Lady Dangerfield looked interested.

*'A Redmond O'Donnell. Really! Read it, Queenie, will
you ? "

Never read aloud," Lady Cecil answered ; " it is an ac-
complishment I do not possess." She glanced suddenly at the
busy fingers of the governess.
Miss Herncastle," she called.

Miss Herncastle paused in her work, and looked up.

*' You will read it to Lady Dangerfield, will you not ? Some-
how I think you can read aloud."

"1 can tr)^," Miss Herncastle answered. She laid down her
work, advanced, took the book, and stood up before her auditors.
The last light of the setting sun shone full upon her tall, statu-
esque figure, her pale, changeless face, locked ever in the
passionless calm of marble. She began. Yes, Miss Herncastle
could read aloud — Lady Cecil had been right. What a won-
drously musical voice it was — so deep, so calm, so sweet. She
made a very striking picture standing there, outlined against
the purple gloaming, the sunlight gilding her face and her dead-
black hair. So thought Rose O'Donnell, so thought Lady
Cecil Chve, so thought two gentleman advancing slowly, un-
seen and unheard, up the avenue, under the trees — Sir Arthur
Tregenna and Captain O'Donnell. Both, as if by some simul-
taneous impulse, stopped to listen.

" ' Push on, my household cavalry ! ' King Louis madly cried ;
To death they rush, but rude their shock— not unavenged they died.
On through the camp the column trod — King Louis turns his rein.
' Not yet, my liege,' Saxe interposed, ' the Irish troops remain.'

" ' Lord Clare,' he says, ' you have your wish ; there are your Saxon foes ! '

The marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously he goes !

How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay.

The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day —

The treaty broken ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could diy.

Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's parting cry,

Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country overthrown —

Each looks as if revenge for all were staked on him alone.

On, Fontenoy — on, Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere

Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.

" O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as halting, he commands,

* Fix bay'nets — charge ! ' like mountain storm rush on these fiery bands !

Thin is the English column now, and faint their volleys grow,

Yet must'ring all ll\e sti-ength they have they make a gallant show ;

They dress their ra aks upon the hill to face that battle wind —

336

*'THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY^

Their bayonets the breakers' foam ; like rocks the men behind !
One volley crashes from their line, when through the surging smoke,
With empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish broke.
On, Fontenoy — on, Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza !
' Revenge ! Remember Limerick ! Dash down the Sassenagh ! '

" Like lions leaping at a fold when mad with hunger's pang.

Right up agauist the English line the Irish exiles sprang !

Bright was their steel, 'tis bloody now, their guns are filled with gore ;

Through shattered ranks, and severed files, and trampled flags they tore :

The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, staggered, fled—

The green hillside is matted close with dying and with dead ;

Across the plain and far away passed on that hideous wrack,

While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track.

On, Fontenoy — on, Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun.

With bloody plumes the Irish stand — the field is fought and won ! "

She paused. Sweet, clear, thrilling "as a bugle blast rang out
the stirring words. A light leaped into her eyes, a gl6w came
over her pale face ; every heart there stirred under the ring of
her tone, her look, her gesture as she ceased.

"By Jupiter!" Redmond O'Donnell exclaimed, under his
breath, " that woman is a marvel."

Lady Cecil stretched out her hand for the book, a look of
surprised admiration in her eyes.

" Miss Herncastle," she said, " you read that splendidly. The
poet should have heard you. I knew you could read but not
like that. You are a born actress."

The governess bowed, smiled, and walked back with immov-
able composure to her place.

" Shall we approach now } " Sir Arthur said, in a constrained
voice.

There was no reply. He looked at his companion — the
eyes of Redmond O'Donnell were fixed on Miss Herncastle
with such a look of utter wonder — of sheer amaze and of rec-
og7iitioji — that the baronet stared at him in turn. Standing
there it had flashed upon him like an inspiration where he had
seen Miss Herncastle before. He started like a man from a
trance at the sound of the baronet's surprised voice.

" How thunderstruck you look, O'Donnell," he said, with a
touch of impatience in his tone ; " did you never before hear
a lady read ? "

The half-irritated words fully aroused him.

Redmond O'Donnell turned away from the governess with a
slight laugh.

" Rarely like that, mon ami. And I have just solved a rid-
dle that has puzzled me since last night. I think I have had
the pleasure of both seeing and hearing Lady Dangerlield's very
remarkable governess before to-day."

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

ISS HERNCASTLE'S audience had been increased
by still two more. The Earl of Ruysland and Major
Frankland, sauntering up the avenue, had also paused
afar off to listen. Against the rose and gold light of
the summer sunset, Miss Herncastle's tall figure and striking face
made a very impressive picture. It was a pretty tableau alto-
gether : Lady Cecil, fair, languid, sweet ; my lady in her rich
robes and sparkling jewels; Rose O'Donnell with her small,
piquant face literally seeming all eyes ; and the accessories of
waving trees, luminous sky, tinkling fountains, and fragrant
flowers.

" Ah ! " Lord Ruysland said, when the spell was broken and
he and his companion moved on once more, "what have we
here ? A second-rate actress from the Surrey side of the
Thames? Upon my life, so much histrionic talent is quite
thrown away. Miss Herncastle (I wonder if her father's name
was Herncastle, by the bye ?) is wasting her sweetness on
desert air. On the boards of Drury Lane her rendering of
Fontenoy would be good for at least two rounds from pit and
gallery. Bravo ! Miss Herncastle ! " He bowed before her
now with the sta.tely courtliness of his youth. " I have read of
entertaining angels unawares — are ive entertaining a modern
Mars, all unknown until now ? "

The covert sneer that generally embellished everything this
noble peer said was so covert, that only a very sensitive ear
could have caught it. Miss Herncastle caught it and lifted her
great gray eyes for one moment to his face — full, steadily.
Something in the grave, clear eyes seemed to disconcert him —
he stopped abruptly and turned away from her.

" Gad ! " he thought, "it is strange. Never saw such an un-
accountable likeness in all my life. She has looked at me a
thousand times with just such a look as Miss Herncastle gave
me now. Confound Miss Herncastle ! What the deuce does
the young woman mean, by looking so horribly like other
women dead and gone ? "

He turned from the party and walked with a sulky sense of
injury into the house. But all the way up to his room, all the
time the elaborate mysteries of the toilet were going on (and
15

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

the mysteries of Lady Dangerfield's herself were plain reading
compared to this old dandy of the ancient regime), all the time
these strong, steady gray eyes pursued him like an uncomforta-
ble ghost.

" Hang Miss Herncastle," again the noble earl growled.
" Cecil doesn't look like her mother ; — what business, then,
has an utter stranger to resemble her in this absurd way? It's
like living in the house with a nightmare ; my digestion is up-
set for the rest of the day. It's deucedly unpleasant and, egad !
I think I must ask Ginevra to dismiss her, if she continues to
disturb me in this way."

Redmond O'Donnell had stood a little aloof, stroking his
mustache meditatively, and gazing at the governess. A per-
fumed blow of a fan on the arm, a soft little laugh in his ear, re-
called him.

" 'And still he gazed, and still the wonder grew !' Is Miss
Herncastle the Gorgon's head, or is it a case of love at sight.
In either event, let me present you and exorcise the spell."

It was Lady Cecil's smiling face that he turned to see. Lady
Cecil, who, with a wave of that fragrant fan, summoned the gov-
erness to her side.

"Miss Herncasde, take compassion on this wretched exile
of Erin, and say something consolatory to him. He stands
helplessly here and ' sighs and looks, sighs and looks, sighs
and looks, and looks again.' Captain Redmond O'Donnell,
Le Beau Chasseur — Miss Herncastle."

She flitted away as she spoke with a saucy, backward glance
at Le Beau Chasseur, and up to her cousin Ginevra.

*'0h, if you please, my lady," with a little housemaid's cour-
tesy, "I have a favor to ask. Don't banish poor Miss Hern-
castle to mope to death in the dreary upper region of the nur-
sery and school-room. She is a lady — treat her as such — your
guest — treat her as a guest. Let her come to dinner."

" Queenie ! Miss Herncastle to dinner ! My guest ! What
Quixotic nonsense you talk. She is my dependant, not my
visitor."

''That is her misfortune, not her fault. Miss Herncastle is
a lady to her finger tips, and fifty times cleverer than you or 1.
See how she interests all the gentlemen. Issue your com-
mands, O Empress of Scarswood. She will make our heavy
family dinner go off."

" Interest the gentlemen ! Yes, I should say so. She
seems to entertain Captain O'Donnell and Sir Arthur Tregenna

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

pretty thoroughly at this moment. Queenie, I don't understand
you ; you should be the last on earth to ask for much of Miss
Herncastle. Where are your eyes ? "

In their old situation. You don't understand me ? " Lady
Cecil laughed a little, and glanced over at the two gentlemen
to whom the tall governess talked. " No, perhaps not — per-
haps I don't quite understand myself Never mind that ; per-
haps I like Miss Herncastle — perhaps the spell of the enchan-
tress is over me, too. We won't ask questions, like a good
little cousin j we will only ask Miss Herncastle to dinner to-
day, to-morrow, and all the to-morrows ? "

Well, certainly, Queenie, if you really wish it ; but I con-
fess I can't understand — "

" Don't try, 7fia chhre ; ' where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to
be wise.' Once a lady, always a lady, is it not ? and though
Miss Herncastle be a governess to-day, she has been some-
thing far different in days gone by. Thanks for this favor.
Let your invitation be gracious, Ginevra, as your invitations
can be when you like."

She turned away and walked into the house. Her cousin
looked after her with a perplexed face. " What coiild Queenie
mean ? Wh3^ it was plain as the rose-light yonder in the v/est
that Sir Arthur Tregenna was going to fall in love with her ;
Sir Arthur Tregenna, who had come down here expressly to
fall in love with Lady Cecil Clive \ Sir Arthur, in whom all
Lady Cecil's hopes and ambitions should be centered. And
here was Lady Cecil now begging this inconvenient governess
might be brought forward, thrown into his society, treated as
an equal, and left to v/ork her Circean spells.

" It's the strangest thing I ever heard of — it's absurd, pre-
posterous. However, as I have promised, I suppose I n^ast
perform. And what will Uncle Raoul say ? I shall keep an
eye upon you this hrst evening, Miss Herncastle, and if I hnd
you attempt to entrap Sir xYrthur, your first evening will be
your last."

Miss Herncastle' s two cavaliers fell back as my lady ap-
peared. The other gentlemen had gone to their rooms to
dress for dinner ; those two followed now. Captain O'Donnell's
share in the conversation had been slight, but there was a look
of conviction on his face as he ran up to his room.

" It is she," he said to himself; " there is not a doubt about
it. A nursery governess. Rather a disagreeable change, I

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

should imagine, after the life she has left. What in the name
of all that is mysterious can have brought her here ? "

Miss Herncastle listened in grave surprise as my lady tersely
and curtly issued her commands.

" It is my desire, at the solicitation of Lady Cecil CHve, Miss
Herncastle, that you dine with us to-day," she said, snappishly.
"There is no necessity for any change in your dress. You are
well enough."

Miss Herncastle was robed like a Quakeress, in gray silk, a
pearl brooch fastening her lace collar, and a knot of blue rib-
bon in her hair. She looked doubtfully at my lady as she
listened.

" Lady Cecil Clive wishes me to dine with yoM to-day, my
lady ? " she repeated, as though not sure she had heard aright.

" I have said so," my lady replied, still more snappishly. "I
don't pretend to understand, only she does, that is enough.
Lady Cecil's wishes are invariably mine."

And then my lady, with her silken train sweeping majesti-
cally behind her, sailed away,, and the governess, who had so
signally come to honor, was left alone — alone with the paling
splendor of the sunset, with the soft flutter of the July wind,
with the twitter of the birds in the branches, and the peacocks
promenading to and fro on the stone terraces. These peacocks,
with their stately strut and outstretched tails, bore an absurd
resemblance to my lady herself, and Miss Herncastle' s darkly
thoughtful face broke into a smile as she saw it.

"As the queen pleases," she said, with a shrug. "And I
am to dine with the Right Honorable the Earl of Ruysland, the
Lady Cecil, and two baronets. Some of us are born great,
some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon
them. I am one of the latter, it appears. I thought the
power to wonder at anything earthly had left me forever, but I
wonder — I wonder what Lady Cecil means by this."

Miss Herncastle, the governess, half an hour later sat down
among this very elegant company at dinner. Sir Peter Dan-
gerfield scowled through his eye-glass as he took his seat.

" What the deuce does this mean ? " he thought, savagely ;
" bringing the brats' governess to dinner. To annoy me, noth-
ing else ; that's her amiable motive ahvays to annoy me."

Miss Herncastle found herself placed between the Earl of
Ruysland and Sir Arthur Tregenna. The earl, immaculately
.got up, spotless, ruffled, snowy linen, tail coat, rose in his
button-hole, diamond ring on his finger, hair perfumed, and

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

341

hands white and delicate as his daughter's own, looked the
whole patrician Peerage of England personified in himself.
And with all the suave gallantry of a latter-day Chesterfield he
paid compliments and made himself eminently agreeable to the
lady by whom he was seated. His digestion might be upset,
his peace of mind destroyed by the proximity, but his hand-
some face was placid as a summer lake.

" Your reading of that poem was something quite wonderful,
Miss Herncastle, I give you my word. I have heard some of
the best elocutionists of the day — on the stage and off it —
but upon my life, my dear young lady, you might make the best
of them look to their laurels. I wonder now, with your talents
and — pardon an old man — your personal appearance, you have
never turned your thoughts in that direction — the stage I mean.
It is our gain at present, but it is the loss of the theatrical
world."

Miss Herncastle smiled — supremely at her ease.

" Your lordship is pleased to be complimentary or sarcastic
— the latter, I greatly fear. It -is one thing to read a poem
decently, and quite another to electrify the Vv'orld as Lad}''
Macbeth. I may teach children of nine to spell words of tv/o
syllables and the nine parts of speech, but I fear I would re-
ceive more hisses than vivas on the boards of the Princess."

By some chance she looked up as she finished speaking, and
met a pair of dark, keen eyes looking at her across the table,
with the strangest, most sarcastic look. Those cynical blue
eyes belonged to the Irish- African soldier. Captain O'Donnell.
He smiled as he met her gaze.

Miss Herncastle does herself less than justice," he said
very slowly. ''A great actress. she might never be — v/e have
no great actresses nowadays — but a clever actress, I am very
sure. As to Lady Macbeth^ I have no means of knowing, but
in the character of Ophelia^ now, I am quite certain, she would
be charming."

Miss Herncastle' s steady hand was lifting a glass of cham-
pagne. The sudden and great start she gave overset the glass
and spilled the wine.

" How awkward I am ! " she said with a laugh ; "if 1 com-
mit such gaucheries as this, I fear Lady Dangerfield will repent
having invited her governess to dinner. Thanks, my lord ;
don't trouble yourself ; my dress has escaped."

In the trifling confusion of the accident Captain O'Donnell' s
remark passed unanswered, and it was noticeable that Miss

342 'TI^E MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

Herncastle took care not to meet those steel-blue eyes once
again until the ladies left the table.

It was he who sprang up and held {.he door open for them,
and as she swept by last, she lifted her large eyes suddenly, and.
shot him a piercing glance. He bowed slightly, smiled slightly,
then the door closed, and the gentlemen drew up, charged and
toasted.

It was rather remarkable that Sir Arthur Tregenna, usually
the most abstemious of men, drank much more wine than any
one there had ever seen him drink before. Major Frankland,
from his place at the end of the table, saw it, and shrugged his
shoulders with a sotto voce comment to his neighbor O'Donnell.

"Used to be absurdly temperate — a very anchorite, what-
ever an anchorite may be. I don't know whether you have
noticed, but all the men who have lost their heads for Ruys-
land's peerless daughter and been rejected, have taken to port
and sherr)'', and stronger still. It seems to be synonymous —
falling in love with Lady Cecil, and falling a victim to strong
drink."

" Well, yes, it does," the chasseur responded. " I remem-
ber Annesly Carruthers, in Paris, used to jump to his feet, half
sprung, with flashing eyes and flowing goblet, and cry, ' Here's
to La Reine Blanche — Heaven bless her ! ' I wonder if that
tipsy prayer was heard ? He took to hard drinking after she
jilted him ; he used to be pretty sober before. There seems
to be a fatality about it," the young Irishman said, reflectively,
filling his own glass. "Powercourt drank himself blind, too,
exchanged into a line regiment ordered to Canada, and he was
seldom drunk more than three times a week, before she did for
him. I wonder how it is ! She doesn't order 'em to ' Fill the
bumper fair ; every drop they sprinkle o'er the brow of Care
smoothes away a wrinkle,' you don't suppose, does she?"

" I don't suppose Tregenna' s one of her victims, certainly,"
responded PYankland. "Lucky beggar ! he's safe to win, with
his long rent-roll and longer lineage."

Ah ! awfully old family, I'm given to understand," O'Don-
nell said ; " were barons in the days of Edward the Confessor
and William the other fellow. But then La Reine Blanche has
such a talent for breaking hearts and turning heads ; and what
a woman may do in any given j^hase of life is, as Lord Dun-
dreary says, * One of these things no fellah can understand.' "

They adjourned to the drawing-room, whence sounds of music
already came wafted through the open window, but in the

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

drawing-room they found Miss Herncastle alone. The soft,
silvery beauty of the twilight had tempted the rest out on the
lawn. Lady Cecil sat in her rustic chair, humming an opera
air, and watching with pensive, dreamy eyes the moon lift its
silver sickle over the far-off hills. And Lady Dangerfield and
Rose O'Donnell sat chatting of feminine fashions and the last
sweet thing in bonnets.

The gentlemen joined them — that is, with the exception of
the Cornish baronet. Music was his passion, and then Miss
Herncastle had looked up with a teUing glance and smile, and
some slight remark as he went by — slight, but sufficient to
draw him to her side, and hold him there. The earl lingered
also, but afar off, and buried in the downy depths of a puffy
silken chair, let himself be gently lulled to sleep. Major Frank-
land, as a matter of course, joined Sir Peter's wife, and Sir
Peter, with a sheet of white paper, and some corks, on which
moths were impaled, and a net, went in search of glow-worms.
And Captain O'Donnell flung his six feet of manhood full
length on the velvet sward at the feet of the earl's daughter,
the delicious sea-scented evening wind lifting his brown hair,
and gazed serenely up at the star-studded sky.

" Neat thing — very neat thing, Lady Cecil, in the way of
moonrise. How Christian-like, how gentle, how calm, how
happy a man feels after dinner ! Ah, if life could be ' always
afternoon,' and such turf as this, and such a sky as that, and
one might lie at Beauty's feet, and — smoke ! Smoking is use-
ful among flowers, too — kills the aphides and all that, and if
I^ady Cecil will permit — "

" Lady Cecil permits," Lady Cecil said, laughing ; " produce
man's best comforter, Captain O'Donnell; light up, and kill
the aphides."

Captain O'Donnell obeyed ; he produced a cigar case, se-
lected carefully a weed, lit up, and fumigated.

'^This is peace — this is bliss; why, oh why need it ever
end ; Lady Cecil, what are you reading ? " He took her
book.

"Pretty, I know, by all this azure and gilding. Ah, to be
sure, Owen Meredith — always Owen Meredith. How the ladies
do worship that fellow. Cupid's darts, broken hearts, silveiy
beams, rippling streams, vows here and there, love everywhere.
Yes, yes, the old story, despair, broken vows, broken hearts —
it's their stock in trade."

" And of course such things as broken vows and broken

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

hearts only serve to string a poetaster's rhymes. We all know
that in real life there is no such thing."

"We know nothing of the sort Hearts are , broken every
day, and their owners not a wit the worse for it in the end.
Better, if anything. ' The heart may break, yet brokenly live
on,' sighs and sings the most lachrymose of all poets, and I
agree with him. Live on uncommonly well, and if the pieces
be properly cemented, grow all the stronger for the breakage."

"Captain O'Donnell speaks for himself, -of course; and
Irishmen's hearts are the most elastic organs going. Give
me my book, sir, and don't be so horribly cynical."

"Cynical, am 1? Well, yes, perhaps I am — cynicism is, I
believe, the nineteenth century name for truth. Hallo ! what's
all this? There's my fellow Lanty, with a letter in his hand,
and what has he done to Sir Peter ? "

" Lanty — Lanty Lafferty ! LIow glad I am to see Lanty.
He has murdered some of poor Peter's beetles I'm afraid — the
slaughter of the innocents over again. See how excited the
baronet is over it."

It was Lanty, and Lanty had murdered a beetle. He had
espied it crawling slowly along Sir Peter's nice white sheet of
paper, and had given it a sudden dexterous whip with a branch
of lilac and — annihilated it. Sir Peter sprang to his feet with
flashing eyes.

"Hov/ dare you, sir ! how dare you kill my specimen, the
finest I have found this summer ? How dare you do it, you
muddle-headed Irishman?"

For Lanty' s nationality was patent to the world. Lanty
pulled off his hat now, and made the baronet a politely depre-
ciating bow.

" How dar I do it ? Is it dar to kill a dirthy cockroach ?
Shure yer honor's joking! Faith I wish I had a shillin' for
ivery wan av thim I've killed in my day ; it's not a footboy I'd
be this minit. Begorra I thought I was doin' ye a good turn.
Shure, ye seen yerself, it was creepin' over the clane paper, a
big, black, creepin' divil av a cockroach."

" Cockroach, you fool ! I tell you it was a specimen of the
Blatta Orientalis — the finest specimen of the Blatta Orientalis
I ever saw."

" Oh, Mother o' Moses ! "

" And you must come along, you thick-headed numbskull,
after all the trouble I've had with it, and kill it. And only two
days since it was born, you blundering bog-trotter ! "

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

345

Mr. Lafferty's expression was fine, as he regarded the
smashed cockroach and the little baronet with mingled looks
of compassion and contempt.

" Born, is it ? Thim dhirty little bastes ! Born ! oh, wirra !
Maybe it was christened, too ! Faix, I wudn't wondher at all ! "

With which Lanty took his departure, and approaching his
mistress, presented his letter with a bow.

" Miss Rose, alana ! a bit av a letther av ye plase. An'
meself s thinkin' from thim postmaks that it's from the ould
munseer himself, in New Orleans beyant."

Lanty ! " called the sweet, clear voice of Lady Cecil,
" come here, and tell me if you have quite forgotten the trouble-
some mistress of Torryglen, for whom you performed so many
innumerable services in days gone by ? You may have forgot-
ten, and grown cynical and disagreeable — like master like man
— but /have not."

She held out her white-ringed, slim hand, and Mr. Lafferty
touched it gingerly, and bowed before that fair, gracious, smil-
ing face, his own beaming with pleasure.

Forget ye, is it ? Upon me conscience, my lady, the man
or woman isn't alive that cud do that av they tried. Long life
to yer ladyship ! It's well I remimber your beautiful face, and
troth, it's more and more beautiful it gets every day."

"Draw it mild, Lanty," Lanty's master said, lazily; ''we are
not permitted to speak the truth to ladies about their looks,
when, as in the present case, the simple truth sounds like gross
flattery. You may go now ; and for the future, my good fellow,
let Sir Peter Danojerfield's black beetles alone."

Mr. Lafferty departed accordingly, giving the beetle-hunting
baronet a wide berth, as ordered. The next moment Rose
came hurriedly over to where her brother lay, still lazily smok-
ing and star-gazing, her open letter in her hand.

"News from New Orleans, Redmond, a letter from grand-
papa. Madame de Lansac is very ill."

The twilight music, floating so softly, so sweetly out into the
silvery gloaming, had ceased a moment before, and the two
figures at the piano approached the open window, nearest Lady
Cecil and the chasseur. Miss Herncastle had paused a second
before joining the lawn party, something in the starry moonlit
loveliness of the fair English landscape stirring her heart with a
throb of exquisite remembrance and pain. Sir Arthur Tregenna
— grave, somber — by her side, was very silent too. Hoiv well
he liked to be here, he alone knew ; and yet his place was at
15*

346 THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

the feet of yonder fair, proud peer's daughter, tlirice as lovely,
thrice as sweet, as this dark daughter of the earth, the spell of
whose sorcery had fallen upon him. So standing, dead silent
both, they heard the words of Rose O'Donne-ll.

Madame de Lansac !" — it was Redmond O'Donnell who
spoke, removing his cigar and looking up — "ill is she? I
thought that handsome Creole was never ill. Nothing serious, I
hope ?"

" It is serious — at least grandpapa says so. Perhaps his fears
exaggerate the danger. She is ill of yellow fever."

" Ah ! I should have thought she was pretty well acclimated
by this time. And our infant uncle, Rose — how is he ? Lady
Cecil, it is not given to every man of eight-and-twenty to pos-
sess an uncle four years old. Such is my happy fortune. How
is the Si2:nor Claude ? "

" Little Claude is well," his sister answered. " Poor madame
— and I liked her so much. Here is what grandpapa says :
' Dear Marie, if there is any change for the worse I shall tele-
graph over at once, and I shall expect Redmond to send or
fetch you out again. Claude has pined to a shadow, and calls
for Marie night and day.' So you see, Redmond, it may end
in our returning after all. Still, I hope there may be no neces-
sity."

Miss O'Donnell folded up her letter and walked away.
Lady Cecil looked inquiringly at her companion.

"Marie?" she said, "Your sister's name is Rose, Cap-
tain O'Donnell, is it not? "

"Rose, yes; Rose Marie — called after her paternal and ma-
ternal grandmothers. Our mother was a Frenchwoman — I
think 1 told you the family pedigree once before, didn't I ? —
and our grandfather is M. De Lansac, of Menadarva. When
Rose went out there, to be brought up as her grandfather's
heiress and all that, the old French grandpere changed,
without troubling Congress in the matter, the obnoxious Celtic
cognomen of O'Donnell for the Gallic patronymic of De Lan-
sac. In other words, Rose O'Donnell left Ireland, and twelve
hours after her arrival in the Crescent City became Marie De
Lansac:"

There was a faint exclamation — it came from the open win-
dow. The speaker and Lady Cecil both looked up, and saw
that pretty tableau — the Cornish baronet and the nursery gover-
ness.

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

"You are ill, Miss Herncastle," Sir Arthur said. ''The
night air, the faUing dew — "

He stopped. No, my Lady Cecil ! Lovely, gracious, high-
born as you are, there never came for you into those calm,
blue eyes the look that glows in them now for your cousin's
silent, somber governess. Lie stopped and looked at her. It
was not that she had grown pale, for she was ever that, fixedly
pale, but a sort of ashen gray shadow had crept up over brow
and chin, like a waxen mask. For one instant her lips parted,
her eyes dilated, then, as if by magic, all signs of change disap-
peared. Miss Herncastle was herself again, smiling upon her
startled companion with her face of marble calm.

"A neuralgic twinge, Sir Arthur." She put her hand to her
forehead. "I am subject to them. No — no, you are very
kind, but there is no need to look concerned. I am quite used
to it, and it only means I have taken a slight cold."

" And we stood here in a draught of night air. Shall I close
the window, Miss Herncastle ? "

" And shut out this sweet evening wind, with the scent of the
sea and the roses ? No, Sir Arthur ; I may not be very senti-
mental or romantic — my days for all that are past — but I think
a more practical person than myself might brave a cold in the
head and a twinge of tic dolourezcx, for such a breeze and such
a prospect as this."

" At least, then, permit me to get you a shawl."

He left her before she could expostulate. She caught her
breath for a moment — hard, then leaned forward and listened
to the low-spoken words of Lady Cecil.

"Your grandfather's heiress," she was repeating, interestedly.
" Ah ! yes, I remember, you told me that also once before."

"Did I? I'll tell you the sequel now, if you like," the
Chasseur d'Afrique said. "There is many a slip, you know,
and old Frenchmen sometimes have youthful hearts. M. De
Lansac suddenly and unexpectedly got married, six years ago
— Master Claude is four years old now, the finest little fellow
from here to New Orleans, the heir of Menadarva, and the De
Lansac millions. After her grandfather's marriage — I don't
know how it was either — she and madame always seemed ex-
cellent friends, but Marie fell into low spirits and ill health,
pined for the green hills of Ulster, and the feudal splendor of
Castle O'Donnell — perhaps you remember that venerable pile,
Lady Cecil — and wrote me to come and fetch her home. Her
grandfather did not wish it. I did not wish it. I could give

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

her no home equal in any way to that she wished to leave ; but
when a woman will, she will", and all the rest of it. Marie De
Lansac, like Marianne in the Moated Grange, was * aweary,
aweary.' The result of many letters, and much feminine logic,
was, that I obtained six months' leave of absence, sailed the
briny seas and — Finis."

"Not Finis, Captain O'Donnell; there is still a supplement.
How is it you chanced to appear before us so suddenly here ? "

"Ask Rose," Captain O'Donnell answered. "I never pre-
tend to fathom the motives that sway the feminine intellect.
She wanted to come to London — we came to London. She
wanted to come to Castleford, Sussex — we came to Castleford,
Sussex. WJiy, I don't know, and I am not sure that I have
any curiosity on the subject. Probably Rose knows, just as
probably though she does not. As well Sussex as anywhere
else. I received and obeyed orders. And " — Captain O'Don-
nell paused a moment and glanced up at the fair, starry face on
which the cold moonbeams shone — " and I can truly say I
don't regret the coming."

He flung away his cigar and sprang to his feet. Lady Dan-
gerfield, with her major, approached at the moment.

" Queenie, are you aware the dew is falling, and that night
air is shocking for the complexion? A little moonlight is very
nice, but enough is enough, I judge. Come into the house ;
we are going to have loo and music."

She swept toward the open windows, her trained dress brush-
ing the dew off the wet grass, and her eyes fell upon the two
tall, dusk, statuesque figures there full in the moonlight. And
over my lady's face an angry frown swept, and from my lady's
eyes a flash of haughty displeasure shot.

" Yoii here still, Miss Herncastle ? " she said, in a voice of
verjuice. " I imagined v/hen the music ceased that you had
gone to your room. Are you aware whether Pansy and Pearl
have gone to bed? Be kind enough to go at once and ascer-
tain."

" And remain when you go," the frown that concluded the
command said.

She swept by them, her shining laces wafting a cloud of
millefleurs before and behind her, and Major Frankland, with
a knowing half-smile on his lips, stalked after like the statue of
the commander.

Miss Herncastle fell back — one appealing, deprecating, wist-
ful look she cast upon Sir Arthur.

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW.

"Good-night," she sighed, rather^than said, and was gone.

Lady Dangerfield was wise in her generation, but she had
made a mistake to-night. A sudden dark anger had swept into
the baronet's eyes, a flash of intolerable anger mounted to his
brow. The lad}'' he " delighted to honor " had been insulted,
had been ordered from his presence and out of his room be-
cause— he understood well enough — because of him. His face
changed, so darkly, so sternly, so angrily, that you saw how
terrible this man, usually so calm and impassive, could be in
wrath.

The rest of the party entered by the other windows. The
lamps were lit, and Lady Dangerfield' s voice came shrilly sum-
moning the baronet to loo.

''We are four — Major Frankland, Miss O'Donnell, Captain
O'Donnell, and myself. We want you, Sir Arthur, to make up
our table."

"Your ladyship will hold me excused. I have no wish for
cards to-night."

The iced stateliness of that tone no words of mine can tell.

Sir Arthur left his window, looking unutterably grim and
awful, strode down the long room, flung himself into a chair,
took up a photograph album and immersed himself instantly
fathoms deep in art.

Lady Cecil Clive, seated at the piano in the dim distance,
heard, saw, and smiled. My lady's stare of angry amaze, Sir
Arthur's grimly, sulky face were irresistible. As she glanced
across the drawing-room, she encountered another pair of laugh-
ing eyes, that met and answered her own. Very handsome,
very bright, very bold, blue eyes they were, in the head of Le
Beau Chasseur. What rapport was there between these two ?
Without speaking a word, they understood each other thor-
oughly.

Sir Arthur Tregenna might wrap himself up in his dignity as
in a mantle, and sulk to his heart's content ; Lady Cecil might
hold herself aloof, and play dreamy, sweet sonatas and German
waltzes, looking like a modern Saint Cecilia ; the Earl of Ruys-
land might still slumber in that peaceful way which a quiet
conscience and a sound digestion give ; Sir Peter might en-
tomb himself in his study or make his nightly pilgrimage to
Castleford — but the loo party were the merriest party imagin-
able.

Miss Herncastle appeared no more, of course ; Lady Cecil
played on and on — Sir Arthur gazed and gazed at his pictures,

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

and never approached the piano. He had got hold of a pict-
ure— Joan of Arc before her judges, and his eyes never left it.
The face was strangely like that of Miss Herncastle — the
expression of the great grave eyes, the compression of the sen-
sitive mouth, the turn of the brow, the shape of the chin. And
that night when Sir Arthur Tregenna went up to his room, he
carried Joan of Arc with him.

It wanted just a quarter of twelve when Redmond O'Don-
nell left Scarswood Park, and took his way on foot to the town.
He had been offered a horse, he had been offered a bed, and
had declined both. To walk on such a night was a luxury.
He lit a Manilla, and went over the moonht road with his long
cavalryman's stride. It was a perfect night, the sky small-
blue, the stars golden and glorious, the moon sailing up serene
in their shiny midst. I>ong shadows of tall trees lay black
across the road, the hedge-rows in full blossom made the night
air odorous, and, far or near, ho living thing was to be seen.

Far or near! Redmond O'Donnell pulled up suddenly in
his swinging pace, and looked away afield. His sight was of
eagle keenness. What dark moving figure was that yonder,
crossing a stile, and vanishing amid the tall gorse ? It was a
woman — more, it was familiar even at that distance.

In a moment his resolution was taken. What woman was
this out for a midnight ramble ? She must have come straight
from Scarswood, there was no other habitation near. Captain
O'Donnell set his lips, flung away his cigar among the fern and
grasses, vaulted like a boy over the hedge, and in a moment
was in full pursuit.

The figure that had vanished in the shadows of the waving
gorse, reappeared in the broad moonht field. A woman — no
doubt about that now — a tall woman, walking swiftly, lightly,
gracefully, as only young women ever walk. That stately
stature, that poise of the head and shoulders, surely all were
familiar. And a quarter past twelve, alone and in haste.
What mystery was here ?

" Some instinct told me six hours ago, when I recognized
'her first, that something was wrong; I am convinced of it now.
Something is wrong. What brings her here ? — of all people in
the world, and in the character of a nursery governess. And
where is she going at this unearthly hour of night ?"

Still she went on — still the unseen pursuer followed on her
track. She never looked back ; straight, swift, as one who has
some fixed end in view, she went on ; and still steady and re-

THE MYSTERY OF BRACKEN HOLLOW,

lentless, determined and stern, Redmond O'Donnell followed
in her track.

Her destination was Bracken Hollow. It came upon him,
seen for the first time, black and grim, buried among its gloomy
trees — lonely and deserted. No lights gleamed anywhere
about it ; its shutters were all closed — unutterably eerie and
desolate in the white shimmer of the moon. But the noctur-
nal visitor opened the grim wooden gate with a key she carried,
relocked it, and for the first time paused to look back. She
saw no one — the trees, and the shades, and the distance hid
the pursuer ; only the silver shine of the stars and moon, the
boundless bine of sky, the spreading green of earth, and the
soft night v/ind whispering over all. She turned from the gate,
hurried up the grass-grown path, and vanished in the inky
gloom of the porch.

Redmond O'Donnell emerged from the shadow of the trees,
and approached the gruesome dwelling. He paused at the
wooden gate, which barred his farther advance, and gazed up
at the black forbidding front. In his rambles over the neigh-
borhood he had never come upon this out-of-the-way place — it
lay in a spot so remote, so unfrequented, that few ever did
come upon it by chance. And those who knew it gave it a
wide berth, for it bore the ghastly reputation of a haunted
house.

He stood, his folded arms resting on the gate, tall sycamores
and firs burying him in their deepest gloom, and watched and
waited for — he hardly knew what. Certainly not for what he
heard — a long, wailing cry that came suddenly and hideously
from the upper part of the house.

He started up. So blood-curdling, so unexpected was it,
that for one moment his heart gave a great bound. It was
followed by another, wild, agonized — then dead silence fell.

Physically and morally Redmond O'Donnell Vv^as brave to
the core, and had given many and strong proofs of his bravery ;
but a chill, more like fear than anything he had ever experi-
enced, fell upon him now. What hideous thing was this ? Was
murder bein^ done in this spectral house ? It looked a fit
place for a murder — all darkness, all silence, all desolation.
The unearthly cry was the same that once before had terrified
Lady Cecil, but of that circumstance he knew nothing. What
deed of evil was going on within these dark walls ? Should he
force an entrance and see ? Would that dreadful cry be l e-
peated ? He paused and listened — five, ten, fifteen minutes.

352 THE MYSTERY OE BRACKElSr HOLLOW,

No, dead silence reigned. Only the flutter of the leaves, and
the chirp of some bird in its nest, the soft rustle of the trees,
the faint soughing of the wind — the "voices" of the night —
nothing more.

What ought he do ? While he still stood there irresolute,
lost in wonder and a sort of awe, the porch door opened, and
the mysterious lady he had followed appeared. A second fig-
ure, the bent figure of a very old woman, came after. The
first was speaking.

No, no, Hannah ; you shall not come. Afraid ! What
nonsense ! The time for me to fear anything earthly is past.
Nothing living or dead will harm me. I will reach Scarswood
in less than three-quarters of an hour, get in as I got out, in
spite of all Sir Peter's chains and locks, and to-morrow be once
more my lady's staid preceptress of youth. Hannah, Hannah,
what a life it is ! Go back ; try to keep everything quiet ;
don't let these ghastly shrieks be repeated if you can help it.
How fortunate Bracken Hollow is thought to be haunted, and
no one ever comes here by night or day ! "

''We had a narrow escape not long ago, for all that. It was
one of the bad days, and the lady and gentleman heard. I put
them off, but it may happen again, and it will. It can't go on
forever."

"Nothing goes on forever; I don't want it to go on forever.
My time is drawing near ; little by little the light is breaking,
and my day is coming. Until it does, keep quiet ; use the
drug if there's too much noise. I will return as speedily as
possible. Now, good-night."

She ran down the steps, walked with her firm, resolute, fear-
less tread, down the path, and, as before, lingered a second or
two at the gate.

The old woman had gone back to the house, and the tall,
dark figure under the firs she did not see. She drew out her
watch and looked at it by the light of the moon.

" Half-past one ! " she murmured. " I had not thought it so
late. It will be a quarter past two, then, before \ reach Scars-
wood."

"x\nd a very late hour for Miss Herncastle to be out
alone ! "

Obeying an impulse he could not resist, the chasseur
emerged from the tree-shadows and stood before her.
" With her permission I will see her safely back."
And then, with the bright light of the moon upon his face,

UNDER THE KING'S OAK. 353

Redmond O'Donnell removed his hat and bowed to Miss
Herncastle.

CHAPTER XIV.

UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

HE did not scream, she did not even start. There
must have been brave blood in the governess' veins.
She stood there stock still, and faced him ; but in the
moonlight that gray pallor came over the resolute
face, and the great gray eyes dilated with something the look
of a hunted stag. So for an instant they stood silent, face to
face, he with the brilliant, slanting moonbeams full on his
dark, ha,ndsome, uncovered head, and his piercing, blue eyes
pitilessly fixed on her stony face. Then the spell broke ; she
drew one long breath, the light came back to her eyes, the
natural hue to her face, and she nerved herself to meet and
dare the worst. She v/as one of those exceptional women who
possess courage, that rises to battle back in the hour of danger.
She opened the gate and spoke.

" Captain Redmond O'Donnell," she said slowly, ''it you.
I breathe again. For one moment I absolutely took you for
a ghost. My nerves are good, but you gave them a shock."

*'Yes," Captain O'Donnell dryly answered. "I think your
nerves are good. Miss Herncastle. There are not many young-
ladies — not many strong-minded governesses even — who would
fancy the long, lonely walk between Scarswood and this place,
between the ghostly hours of twelve and two. You are going
back ? As I said before, with your permission, I will accom-
pany you. Under existing circumstances it becomes my duty
to see you safely home."

She smiled, came out, relocked the gate, put the key in her
pocket, drew the black mantle she wore closely about her and
walked on.

" Your duty ? " she repeated, still Avith that smile. '' Duty
is a word with a wide signification to som.e people. For
instance, no doubt you considered it your duty to follow me
here to-night — to dog my steps, like the hireling assassin of an

354

UNDER THE KINGS OAK.

Italian novel — to (it is not a pleasant word, but the word I
want) play the spy."

He was walking by her side. He was lowering the pasture
bars of a field as she spoke, to let her through.

"Spy?" he said. "Well, yes, I confess it looks hke it.
Still in justice to myself and my motives, let me say something
more than simple curiosity has been at work to-night. In the
usual course of events, though it might surprise me to see
Lady Dangerfield's governess taking a moonlight ramble after
midnight, it certainly would not induce me to follow her, and
play the spy, as you term it, upon her actions. But another
motive than curiosity prompted me to-night — to dog your foot-
steps, to wait for your reappearance, and to accompany you
home."

"Ah, something more ! May I ask what it is that induces
Captain O'Donnell to take so profound an interest in one so
far beneath him as Lady Dangerfield's governess ?"

The grave defiance of her tone and manner, the daring
mockery of her glance, told him she was prepared to deny
everything — to fight every inch of the ground.

"Well, Miss Herncastle," he said, "my first impression
when I recognized you — for your carriage, your walk, your
bearing, are not to be mistaken anywhere — "

Miss Herncastle bowed sarcastically, as to a compliment.

" My J"/ impression, I say, w^as that you were walking in
your sleep. I knew a somnambulist in Algeria who would
walk miles^ every night, if not locked up. But a Httle thought,
and a few minutes' cautious pursuit convinced me that you were
not sleep-walking, but exceedingly wide awake indeed."

Again Miss Herncastle bowed — again with that derisive, de-
fiant smile on her face. Her whole look, manner, and tone
were entirely unlike Miss Herncastle, who seemed more like
an aniinated statue than a living woman in my lady's spacious
rooms.

"And being convinced of that. Captain O'Donnell's first
impulse — the impulse of all brave men and gallant gentlemen,
was — ' Miss Herncastle is out for a walk by herself, either on
private business, or because of the beauty of the night, or be-
cause she cannot sleep. She certainly doesn't want me, and is
quite capable of taking care of herself. I will turn back at
once and think no more about it.' That was, I know, the first
thought of Captain O'Donnell, the bravest chasseur in all the
army of Africa. May I ask why he did not act upon it ?"

^ UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

355

Simply for this reason — that Captain O'Donnell recognized
Miss Herncastle at six o'clock last evening, as she stood upon
the lawn reading the ' Battle of Fontenoy.' "

Indeed ! " Miss Herncastle responded, with supreme in-
difference ; recognized me, did you ? I am rather surprised
at that. You encountered me in the streets of London prob-
ably before I came here ? "

''No, madame, I encountered you in the streets of a very
different city. I have an excellent memory for faces, and
though I may be puzzled to place them for a little, I generally
come out right in the end."

" I congratulate Captain O'Donnell on his excellent mem-
ory. And my face puzzled you at first, did it ? and you have
come out all right in the end ? "

" Carry your memory back to the night of the theatricals at
Scarswood, the night of my first appearing there. I saw you
play Charlotte Corday, and in common with all present, your
manner of enacting it electrified me. More, I knew immedi-
ately that I had seen you before, and in somewhat similar cir-
cumstances. I asked who you were, and was told Lady Dan-
gerfield's nursery governess. That nonplussed me — my recol-
lections of you were altogether unreconcilable with the charac-
ter of children's preceptress. Then came last evening, and
your very fine rendering of the Irish poem. And again I was
puzzled. Your face was perfectly familiar — your attitude, your
voice, your action — but where had I seen you ? Do you re-
member Lady Cecil's exclamation? — 'Miss Herncastle, you
are a born actress ! ' Like mist before the sun, the haze of my
mind was swept away, and I knew you. I repeat it, Miss
Herncastle — / kneiv you^

"You knew me?" Miss Llerncastle repeated, but her eyes
were gleaming strangely now; "well, sir, you know nothing
to my discredit, I hope ? "

" Nothing to your discredit, if you have told Lady Danger-
field the truth. But baronets' wives rarely look for their
children's instructresses in the person of a New York ac-
tress."

" Captain O'Donnell!"

" Miss Herncastle ! "

And then there was a pause, and for an instant hozu horribly
thick and fast Miss Herncastle's heart beat only Miss Hern-
castle ever knew.

" I don't understand you," she said ; but in spite of all her

356

UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

great self-command her voice sounded husky. "A New York
actress. 1 never was in New York in my life. I am an Eng-
lishwoman, born and bred."

If he would only take his eyes off her face, she thought her
defiant spirit would rise again. But those powerful blue eyes,
keen as a knife, bright as steel, seemed to pierce her very soul,
and read all its falsehood there.

I regret Miss Herncastle takes the trouble to make unnec-
essary statements," he said coldly. " An Englishwoman born
and bred. I believe that. But as surely as we both stand
here, I saw you six months ago on a New York stage — one of
the most popular actresses of that city."

She was silent — her lips set hard — that hunted look in h :r
large eyes.

"The play was Hamlet,' " pursued the pitiless voice of the
chasseur ; " and the great trans-Atlantic actor, Edwin Booth,
played the doleful Prince of Denmark. I had never seen
' Hamlet,' and I went the first night of my arrival in New York.
The Ophelia of the play was a tall, black -browed, majestic
woman, who acted superbty, and who looked as if she could
take care of herself ; but then all American women have that
look. At least she was very far from one's idea of poor love-
sick, song-singing, weak-minded Ophelia ; and I really think
she took the character better than any actress I ever saw ; but
then my experience has been limited. Miss Herncastle, I
don't remember the name of that actress on the bills, but I
certainly have the honor of walking by her side to-night. No,"
— he lifted his hand hastily, " I beg you will not trouble your-
self to deny this. What good will it do ? You can't convince
me though you denied it until daylight. I know I speak the
truth."

She turned to him with sudden impulse — sudden passion in
her face. Ah ! that is where women fail — where men have the
advantage of us. The strongest-minded of us will let ourselves
be swayed by impulse, and all the vows and resolves of our
life swept away in the passion of a moment. She turned to
him with a swift, impassioned gesture of both hands, theatrical
perhaps, but real.

" Why should I lie to you ! You are a man of honor, a
soldier, and a gentleman — you will not betray me. I will tell
the truth. Captain O'Donnell. I am the New York actress —
I a7n the Ophelia you beheld six months ago."

I knew it," he answered with composure. I saw you

UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

357

many nights in succession. It was impossible for me to be mis-
taken. And as clever and popular actresses do not as a rule
quit the stage, and the brilliant, well-paid, well-dressed, highly-
strung existence of a popular leading lady, and merge their
bright individuality into that of a poorly paid, overtasked drudge
of a nursery governess, you will pardon me, I think, for allow-
ing my suspicions to rise, for following your footsteps to-night.
I said to myself, this actress, whom a crowded Broadway house
applauded to the echo, night after night, has some motive — a
sinister one, in all likelihood — in quitting her profession and
coming to this house in the rUe of governess. For, of course,
a governess she will not long remain. Lady Dangerfield is in
utter ignorance of her antecedents — ^believes whatever story
Miss Herncastle chooses to tell her — takes her recommenda-
tions, forged beyond doubt, for authentic documents, and is
being duped every day. I speak plainly, you see, Miss Hern-
castle."

"You do, indeed," Miss Herncastle answered bitterly.
You state your case with all the pitiless grimness and truth of
the stern old judge on the bench, summing up the facts that are
to condemn for life the miserable culprit in the dock. And
after all," she flung up her hand, her eyes flashing, " what busi-
ness is it of yours ? Are you my lady's keeper ? Has- your
own fate been ordered so smoothly that you should hunt down
to ruin a poor wretch with whom life has gone hard ? "

Something in her tone moved him — something in that pas-
sionate, savage, hunted look of her eyes touched him, he hardly
knew why.

" No, God knows," he said sadly, "my own life has been no
pathway of roses. I am the last man on earth to set up in
judgment upon my struggling fellow mortal, and accuse him.
I have no wish to hunt you down, as you call it. This night's
work, this night's discovery, and your avowal, shall be as though
they had never been. Whether I do right or wrong in con-
cealing the truth is much too subtle a question for me — I only
know I will conceal it."

She held out her hand suddenly, with a second swift impulse.
" For that much at least I thank you. Why I have left the
stage, why I have come here, you have answered to your
own satisfaction. Some sinister motive must be at the bottom,
of course. And yet, Captain O'Donnell — and yet — can you
imagine no better, no higher, no more worthy motive ? The
one may be brilliant, the other dull ; one well-paid, well-

358

UNDER THE KING'S OAK,

dressed, well-applauded ; the other a pittance — quaker garb,
and the obedience of a servant ; but yet the dull life is the safe
one — the other full of untold dangers and temptation."
Captain O'Donnell smiled.

" I grant it. Full of untold dangers and temptation to fool-
ish girls and frivolous matrons — not to such women as you. In
any situation in life you are quite capable of taking excellent
care of yourself, Miss Herncastle. That plea has not even the
advantage of being commonly plausible. What )^our motive
may be, I don't know — it is your own business and in no way
concerns me. Unless," he paused — " unless, Miss Herncas-
tle— " he said, slowly.

"Yes, Captain O'Donnell — unless — ^"
Unless I find trouble of any kind coming of it. You are
doing mischief already — do you know it ? You have frightened
two or three people into the belief that you are a ghost."

Miss Herncastle laughed — not a very natural-sounding laugh,

"Poor litde Sir Peter! Is it my fault, Captain O'Donnell,
that I resemble some woman he has known, dead and in her
grave ? "

"Perhaps not ; I have not quite made up my mind how that
is yet. Second clause — " he gave her a piercing look ; " are
you aware that Sir Arthur Tregenna is engaged — has been
engaged for years — to Lady Cecil Clive ? "

"Ah," Miss Herncastle said, scornfully, ^' 7iow \nc tread on
delicate ground. Sir Arthur Tregenna is engaged to Lady
Cecil Clive, and Sir Arthur Tregenna has shown the despised
nursery governess the simple courtesy of a gentleman to a gen-
tlewoman. For, in spite of the New York acting and English
teaching, I am that, sir ! He has kindly talked a little to Miss
Herncastle, and the earl's daughter deigns to be jealous, with
all her beauty, and birth, and breeding, of poor, lowly, plain me.
And you, Captain O'Donnell — you of all men — tell me of it."

" And why not I, Miss Herncastle ? "

" Because," she burst out, fiercely, passionately, " Lady Cecil
Clive may be engaged to fifty wealthy baronets, but — she loves
you / Ah ! you feel that ! " She laughed in a wild, reckless
sort of way. " She loves you, the soldier of fortune, the free
companion, and will give Sir Arthur her hand at the altar, while
her heart is in your keeping ! And this is the dainty, the spot-
less, the proud Lady Cecil. What you are or have been to her
in the past, you know best ; but — I wonder if Sir Arthur does ?
He is a faithful friend and gallant gentleman. Don't you think,

UNDER THE KING'S OAK,

359

Captain O'Donnell, my judge, my censor, that from your hands
and hers he deserves better than that ? "

She had struck home. The tide of battle had turned — vic-
tory sat perched on her 'banner now. His face flushed deep
red, under the golden bronze of an Afric sun, then grew very
white. Miss Herncastle, womanlike, pursued her advantage
mercilessly.

" You see the mote in your brother's eye, but how about the
beam in your own ? Most men like to think the heart of the
woman they marry has held no former lodger. They like to
think so, and if in nine cases out of ten they are duped, if they
do not know it, what does it matter ? My Lady Cecil is pure
and spotless as mountain snow, is she not ? And she sells lier-
self — it is my turn to use plain words now, sir — sells herself for
Sir Arthur's thirty thousand a. year. She is the soul of truth
and a living lie to him every day of her life. She will become
his vnfe, and her heart will go after you out to Algiers. Yours
she is — and will be — and Sir Arthur trusts her and you. Bah !
Captain O'Donnell, is there one true woman or man in all the
world wide ? I don't say Sir Arthur has any right to complain
— he is only treated as the larger half of his sex are treated ;
but ^ox^X. you call him to order if he chances to speak a few
kindly words to me. We are at the park ; may I go in ? I am
tired to death, walking and talking. Has more got to be said,
or shall we cry quits, and say good-night ? "

" How will you get in ? " he asked. " The doors and windows
seem bolted for the night."

" Doubly bolted, doubly barred," Miss Herncastle replied,
with a contemptuous laugh, " to keep out . burglars and ghosts,
the two bugbears of Sir Peter's life. Nevertheless I will get in.
Good-night, Captain O'Donnell." She held out her hand. "I
would rather you had not followed me, but you thought you
were doing your duty, and I do not blame you. Shall we cry
quits, or shall it be war to the knife ? "

He touched the ungloved hand she extended and dropped it
coldly.

" It shall be whatever Miss Herncastle pleases. Only I should
advise her to discontinue those nocturnal rambles. She may
get followed again, and by some one less discreet even tlian
myself, and the very strange cries that issue from that m) steri-
ous dweUing be found out."

She caught her breath; she had quite forgotten Bracken
Hollow.

36o

UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

"You heard—"

" I heard three very unearthly cries, Miss Herncastle. I
shall inquire to-morrow who lives in that house.

" Do. You will hear it is an old woman, a very old, harm-
less woman, but a little, just a little, in her dotage. These
moonlight nights affect her, and when her rheumatism twinges
come on she cries out as you have heard her."

He smiled as he listened.

"You don't believe me ? " she exclaimed. " You think I am
telling a second lie."

" My dear Miss Herncastle," the chasseur replied, "we never
apply that forcible and impolite word to a lady. And now, as
you seem tired, and lest poachers and game-keepers should see
us, I think we had better part. You are quite sure you can
get in ?"

"Quite sure. Good-night, Captain O'Donnell."

He lifted his hat and turned at once. Miss Herncastle stood
where he had left her, following the tall, gallant figure that
crossed the moonlit field so swiftly, with a strange expression in
her eyes and on her lips. Not anger, certainly not hatred, what-
ever it might be. She stood there until he was out of sight,
until the last sound of rapid footsteps on the distant highroad
died away. Then she turned, entered the great elm avenue,
and disappeared.

It was the next night after this that something very strange
and very startling occurred to Sir Peter Dangerfield.

Beside his sunset pilgrimage to that remote Castleford church-
yard, the Scarswood baronet made other pilgrimages to Castle-
ford, by no means so harmless. In an out-of-the-way street of
the town there stood a tall, white house, set in a garden off the
highway, and looking the very picture of peace and prosperity.
A gentleman named Dubourg, of foreign extraction, and his
wife, resided there. M. Dubourg was a most agreeable gentle-
man, Madame Dubourg the most charming, most vivacious,
and, when artistically made up for the evening, the prettiest of
little Avomen. Perhaps it was owing to the charm of those
agreeable people's society that so many officers of the Castle-
ford barracks, and so many of the dashing young country
squires, frequented it. Or, perhaps — but this was a secret — •
perhaps it was owing to the unUmited loo and lansquenet, the
ecarte and chicken-hazard you might indulge in between night-
fall and sunrise. For lights burned behind those closed vene-

UNDER THE KING'S OAK.

361

tians the short summer and the long winter nights through, and
men sat silent and with pale faces until the rosy lances of sun-
rise pierced the bUnds, and the fall of the cards and the rattle
of dice were the only sound to stir the silence. Immense sums
were staked, Httle fortunes were lost and won, and men left
haggard and ghastly in the gray dawn, with the cold dew stand-
ing on their faces, or rode home flushed, excited, richer by
thousands of pounds. The Castleford police kept their eye on
this peaceful suburban retreat and the delightful Monsieur and
Madame Dubourg, but as yet no raid had been made.

A passion for gambling had ever been latent in the Danger-
field blood. In the days of his poverty it had developed itself
in his continual buying of lottery tickets ; in the days of his-
prosperity, at the gaming-table. Insect-hunting might be his
hobby — chicken-hazard was his passion. Of the sums he lost
and won there Lady Dangerfield knew nothing ; her apartments
were in the other wing of Scarswood. Of the unearthly hours
of his return home no one knew but the head groom, who sat
up for him and took his horse, and was well paid for his silence
and his service. As a rule, Sir Peter's losses and gains were
pretty equal ; he was an adept at chicken-hazard, and no more
skilled gamester frequented the place.

On the night then following Miss Herncastle's adventure. Sir
Peter rode gayly homeward at a much earlier hour than usual,
the richer by six hundred pounds. He was in high good spirits
— for him ; the night was lovely — bright as day and twice as
beautiful. In his elation all his constitutional dread of ghosts,
of "black spirits and white, blue spirits and gray," vanished,
and he was actually trying to vdiistle a shrill little tune as he
scrambled along. The clocks of Castleford, plainly heard in
the stillness, were striking twelve as the baronet entered his own
domain and rode up the avenue.

What was that ?

His horse had shied so suddenly as nearly to throw him off.
They were near a huge oak, called the King's Oak, from the
legend that the young Pretender had once taken refuge there
from his pursuers. Its great branches cast shadows for yards
around. And slowly out of those gloomy shadows — a figure
came — a white figure, with streaming hair, and face upturned to
the starry sky. All in white— true ghostly garments — noiseless,
slow, it glided out and stood full in his pathway.

The bright, cold light of the moon shone full upon it, and he
saw — the dead face of Katherine Dangerfield !
16

362 " ^ GLASS, DARKL F."

Katherine Dangerfield ! Not a doubt of it. Who should .
know the face better than he ? as he used to see her long ago
in her white dress and flowing hair. Katherine Dangerfield,
with a face of stone upturned to the midnight sky.

He sat frozen for a moment — frozen with aiiorror too intense
for words or cry. Then the startled horse shied again, a^d a
shriek rang out in the midnight stillness, those who heard might
never forget. The horse plunged madly forward, and there
was the sound of a heavy fall.

The groom, half asleep at his post, rushed out ; two or three
dogs barked loudly in their kennels. The groom rushed for-
ward and seized the horse, quivering with affright. He was
riderless. At a little distance lay Sir Peter, face downward, on
the dewy grass, like a dead man. And nothing else earthly or
unearthly was anywhere to be seen.

CHAPTER XV.

**AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY."

HE groom echoed his master's cry as he stooped and
lifted him up. He was senseless ; he had struck his
forehead on a stone, and was bleeding freely. It was an
awfully ghastly face upon which the moonlight shone.
The double alarm had been heard. In five minutes another
of the grooms, sleeping over the stable, came running to the
spot.

" T' maister hurt," groom number one explained ; " been
flung off his horse. Gi' us a hand here, my lad, and help us
lift him oop and carry him into house."

They bore the stark and bleeding form between them, found
his night-key in his pocket, opened the door and carried him
up to his own room. One or two of the servants appeared —
the alarm was speeding through the household.

Best tell my lady," some one said ; and, Davis, hadn't
thee better go to Castleford for a surgeon ? "

Both suggestions were acted on ; my lady was summoned,
very much startled and very peevish at being disturbed in her
^'beauty sleep."

''A3 IN A GLASS, DARKLYr

3^3

And what could she do ? " she fretfully asked. " Of what
use was it summoning her ? "

All was confusion, servants standing nonplussed, my lady's
only emotion, as she stood in her flowing white wrapper, gazing
with much disfavor at the bleeding face and motionless figure,
one of anger at being routed out. The groom had gone for the
surgeon ; pending the surgeon's arrival, nothing seemed likely
to be done. In the midst of the " confusion worse confounded"
appeared upon the scene Miss Herncastle, also in a wrapper,
alarmed by the noise, and carrying a night-lamp in her hand.

" Oh, Miss Herncastle ! " my lady exclaimed, " perhaps yott
may know what to do. I am sure I don't, and it was most in-
considerate awakening me in this manner, when my nights are
so broken, and with my shattered nerves and all. And then
the sight of blood always makes me sick. Perhaps you can do
something for Sir Peter ; he has had a fall off his horse, and
seems to be stunned. I don't believe he is killed. I wish you
would see, and if it's not dangerous I'll go back to bed." My
lady shivered in the chill night air ; the great rooms and long
corridors of Scarswood were draughty. I would stay with
pleasure, of course, if there was any real danger, or if Sir
Peter were dying, or that kind of thing, but I know he is not."

I dare say you would," more than one of the servants pres-
ent thought, as they listened to this wifely speech, and smiled
furtively. " If Sir Peter were dying, my lady, you would stay
with pleasure."

Miss Herncastle' s calm, pale face, looking more marble-like
than ever in the fitful lamplight, bent over the rigid little baro-
net. She felt his pulse, she wiped away the blood with a wet
sponge and discovered the trifling nature of the cut, and
turned to my lady.

Sir Peter is in a fainting fit, I think, my lady ; probably, too,
stunned by the shock of his fall. The wound is nothing, a
mere scratch. There is not the slightest danger, I am sure,
and not the slightest necessity for your remaining here. In
your delicate state of health you may get your death of cold."
My lady had never been sick two hours in her whole life.
" Permit me to urge you to retire, Lady Dangerfield. /will
remain and do all that is necessary."

" Very well. Miss Herncastle, I beHeve I must. I fear I
shall be ill as it is after the shock ; my nervous system feels
completely unstrung. If there should be any danger I beg
you will send me word the very first thing in the morning."

364

'*AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY:'

And then my lady, with a wretched expression of coun-
tenance, wended her way back to bed, and Miss Herncastle
had charge of the lord of Scarswood. She dismissed all the
gaping servants, with one or two exceptions — the housekeeper
and a man — and set to work with the air of one who under-
stood her business. She bathed his face and temples with ice-
water ; she slapped his palms ; she applied sal-volatile and burnt
feathers to his nostrils; and presently there was a flutter of the
colorless eyelashes, a tremor all over the body, and Sir Peter's
small, near-sighted, pale blue eyes opened and fixed on Miss
Herncastle.

My dear Sir Peter, how do you feel now ?" the soft, sweet
tones of that most soft, sweet voice asked. " Better, I sincerely
trust ! "

He had not known her at first ; he blinked and stared help-
lessly in the lamplight ; but at the second look, the sound of
her voice, an awful expression of horror swept over his coun-
tenance ; he gave another wild cry of affright, half-started up,
and fell back senseless once again.

It was really a tragic scene. All the exertions of the gover-
ness failed to restore him this second time. The moments
dragged on ; the housekeeper (not Mrs. Harrison of Sir John's
reign, en passant ; she had left upon her master's death) and
the butler sat dumb and awe-stricken. Miss Herncastle never
wearied in well-doing, applied her restoratives incessantly,
until at last, as all the clocks in Scarswood were chiming
the half hour after three, the groom and the surgeon came.

The surgeon was a young man, a new practitioner, and con-
sidered very skilful. He brought Sir Peter round for the
second time, presently, and once more the baronet's eyes
opened to the light of the lamps, and the moon streaming in
through the bars of the Venetians.

He stared around, bewildered, his face still keeping its ex-
pression of horror, his eyes fixed on the faces of the physician,
the housekeeper, and the butler. Then he spoke in an awe-
stricken whisper :

"Where is she 2''

"Who ? " It was the surgeon who asked. "Whom do you
mean, my dear Sir Peter? — Lady Dangerfield?"
" I mean Katherine Dangerfield."

The young doctor had heard that story, stranger though he
was — had heard of Sir Peter's delusive and ghostly belief, and
shook his head.

"AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY."

"There is no such person here, my dear Sir Peter! Your
mind is still — "

Sir Peter raised himself up on his elbow, with a sort of scorn.

"I tell you I saw her — saw her twice ! Don't talk to me of
my mind, you fool ! I saw her ! She came — oh, Heaven ! —
she came and stood before me out there under the trees, all in
white, her hair flowing, and her dead eyes turned up to the
stars ! I saw her ! I saw her ! and I live to tell it ! And five
minutes ago I opened my eyes and saw her again, her dead
eyes, her stern face looking over the bed ! "

The young doctor recoiled. Had Sir Peter gone entirely
mad ?

Mrs. Butler, the housekeeper, came forward — a genteel creat-
ure, and the widow of a curate.

^'My dear Sir Peter, you alarm yourself unnecessarily. I
assure you" — Mrs. Butler reveled in words of three syllables
— "it was the governess. Miss Herncastle, whom you beheld a
few minutes ago when consciousness returned. My dear Miss
Herncastle, pray come forward and corroborate my assurance."

Miss Herncastle, hovering aloof in the moonlight and the
shadows, came slowly forward, speaking as she came.

" I am sorry to have startled Sir Peter by my unfortunate
resemblance to his dead relative. Mrs. Butler is right ; it was
I you saw a few moments ago. Sir Peter."

He sat up in bed gazing upon her, the wild look of horror
dying slowly out of his wizzen, little, pinched face, and an ab-
ject look of fear coming in its place. Her eyes were fixed
upon him, steadily, strongly, intensely. What mesmeric power
was there in those calm gray eyes to subdue him to her will ?

" Lie down. Sir Peter," she said very gently, " and let me
give you some medicine. Will you not order him a sedative,
a composing draught, Mr. Weymore ? I am sure he needs it.
I will administer it, and Avill watch, with Mrs. Butler, until
morning."

The young doctor obeyed. He prepared the sedative, and
Miss Herncastle administered it. Sir Peter took it from her
hand, spell-bound it seemed, unable to refuse, unable to take
his fascinated eyes off her face. Then he lay back ; she ar-
ranged his pillows, smoothed the coverlet, made him comfort-
able, as only a deft-handed woman can. All the time his eyes
never left her face — all the time he never uttered a word. The
spell of some mesmeric force was upon him, and rendered him
obedient to her will.

366

**AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY:'

Mr. Weymore, the Castleford surgeon, took his depart-
ure.

" Nothing ailed Sir Peter but shattered nerves ; he wanted
rest, repose, tonics, cheerful society, entire change of air. He
saw," he said, " he left him in excellent hands," with a glance
of admiration at the calm, serene young lady. " He would go
now, and call early the ensuing forenoon. Good-night, Miss
Herncastle." And Mr. Weymore, with a second admiring
glance at that Juno-like form and grave, thoughtful face, took
his hat and his departure.

The sedative had its effect — Sir Peter fell asleep, Mrs. But-
ler nodded in her easy chair, Miss Herncastle drew the curtains,
raised the blind, seated herself by the window, and with her
chin on her hand, looked out. It was past four ; the waning
moon was dropping pale out of sight in the west, the eastern
sky was flushing and brightening already with the beauty and
splendor of a new-born summer day. The tall trees stood
motionless, the waving grass and cowslips were glistening widi
dew, long silver lances of light pierced the mysterious green
depths of waving fern. It was beautiful — beautiful. Of what
did Miss Herncastle think as she sat there with somber face
and duskily brooding eyes ? After days darkly told.

Sir Peter fell into a deep, refreshing, natural sleep as the
morning wore on. Some time after sunrise Lady Cecil entered,
hearing for the first time of what had occurred, and offered in
her kindly, gentle way to take Miss Herncastle' s place. Very
haggard in the rosy brightness of the July sunrise Miss Hern-
castle looked, her eyes heavy, her cheeks pale.

" Go to your room at once," Lady Cecil said. " You look
quite worn out. Pray, do not attempt teaching to-day. After
you have slept and breakfasted go for a long walk. You need
it, I am sure."

She murmured her thanks and went. And Lady Cecil, with
the upper housemaid for companion, took her vacated post.
My lady still slumbered — her wretched nerves ahvays required
her to lie abed until eleven o'clock.

The news spread, as such news is pretty sure to do. By
noon that day all Castleford knew that Sir Peter, riding home
at midnight (pretty hour for a magistrate and a baronet to be
gadding), had beheld Katherine Dangerfield's ghost under the
trees of Scarswood, had fallen from his horse in a fit, had struck
his temple on a stone, and now lay at Death's door, if he had
not already entered that gloomy portal. The news spread — it

*'AS m A GLASS, darkly:'

367

was the talk of the town, and among others came to the ears
of Captam O'Donnell.

" Saw a ghost," the chasseur thought, knitting his brows, in
a reflective frown : " what fooling is this ? Saw Katherine
Dangerfield — Humph ! Has somebody been playing a practical
joke at the superstitious little baronet's expense, I wonder ? I'll
walk over and see."

He walked down. It was past three when he reached Scars-
wood. On the grounds he encountered Lady Cecil Clive and
the twins out for a holiday. He joined the trio at once.

" Good-morning, Lady Cecil. Bon jotir, mesdemoiselles.
Pansey et Pearl. Lady Cecil, what ghastly news is it that is
galvanizing all Castleford ? I don't understand it. Sir Peter
has seen a ghost."

So Sir Peter says. Captain O'Donnell; and who should
know better? He had been somewhere in Castleford until
close upon midnight, the traditional ghostly hour, and riding up
the avenue he saw the ghost of Katherine Dangerfield — a lady
six years dead ! She came gliding out from beneath the King's
Oak — she was all in white, of course. She frightened his horse
— it started and threw him. That is Sir Peter's story — he re-
members no more. Wilson, the head groom, supplements the
marvellous tale by saying he heard the most ' hoffiillest scream '
that ever was heard, and rushing to the spot, found Saracen
quivering with terror and Sir Peter in a dead faint on the
ground. The ghost had gone. That is the legend, as we
heard it ; the facts are, Sir Peter was certainly thrown off his
horse, and now lies ill and feverish up-stairs. His nerves are
in such a state that he nearly falls into spasms if left a moment
alone."

"Who is with him?" Captain O'Donnell asked. He had
listened very gravely and thoughtfully to Lady Cecil's explana-
tion.

" Miss Herncastle. She is an excellent nurse, it appears,
and he is docile as an infant in her hands, though fractious be-
yond belief with the rest of us, I believe." Lady Cecil tried to
speak very carelessly, " Sir Arthur Tregenna is there also."

The chasseur Hfted his eyes and looked at her keenly for a
moment. She did not meet that blue, piercing glance ; she
had stooped and was gathering the hyacinths at her feet.

"Miss Herncastle," he repeated that. "And he is passive
as a child in her hands, is he ? Now that is odd, too. 1 fan-
cied he disliked and feared Miss Herncastle, because of her un-

368

'*AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY:'

accountable or fancied resemblance to this very dead Katherine
Dangerfield."

" So he said. I don't pretend to understand it, or half the
other things I see, but so it is. She gave him a second terrible
fright, too, last night."

"How?"

She came down and took charge of him when he was first
brought in, it appears. Ginevra was there, of course ; but
poor Ginevra — of what earthly use is she in a sick room ? She
went back to her chamber when convinced there was no danger,
and Miss Herncastle went to work, Mrs. Butler says, as though
she had been a hospital nurse all her life, and restored him to
consciousness. The moment he saw who it was, he uttered
the most dreadful shriek, and fell back in a second swoon."

" Ah ! " Captain O'Donnell said, intensely interested.

" They could do nothing with him then, until the surgeon
came. When next restored his first question was ' Where is
she ? ' ' Who ? ' the surgeon asked. ' Katherine Dangerfield,'
was the wild answer ; ' I saw her twice to-night — once out
under the trees, and five minutes ago by my bedside ! ' He
was like a man mad, they say, at first, then Butler explained
that he was mistaken, that he had seen no one but Miss Hern-
castle, and Miss Herncastle came forward and confirmed her
words. She looked at him steadily with those great eyes of
hers — (you should see Mrs. Butler glare when describing it)
and he subsided immediately, like a terrified child. I took her
place early in the morning — she looked fagged to death — and
Ginevra came in for a few minutes at noon ; but strange to say,
he asked for Miss Herncastle, and seemed restless and feverish
until she came. Now he is perfectly quiet. The tableau in
the sick room is this — Sir Arthur reading gravely aloud the
Castleford Chronicle at one side of the bed, Miss Herncastle
gravely embroidering at the other, and Sir Peter, lying with wide-
open eyes that never leave Miss Herncastle' s face. They all
looked so very well content, that I came away."

She laughed a little and gathered more hyacinths for her
bouquet. Again the soldier glanced at her with those blue,
brilliant eyes of his, but again the brown eyes were intently
fixed on her flowers. Was Lady Cecil jealous ?

" It is a pity, no doubt, to interrupt so happy and well-as-
sorted a party," he said, " still I think I will be vandal enough
to do it. I am very much interested in this matter, and am go-
ing to turn amateur detective and probe it to the bottom. A

"AS IN- A GLASS, DARKLY.'*

veritable ghost in this nineteenth century is a novel and won-
derful curiosity ; let us make the most of it. It is something
even to see a man who has seen a ghost. It has never been
my good fortune, in all my varied experience, to meet one be-
fore. I shall go at once and '■ interview ' Sir Peter."

He bowed and departed, and Pansy and Pearl, who had run
off, rejoined Lady Cecil.

" How nice he is, aunty," Pearl said, "with such white teeth,
and good-natured-looking, and everything. He's nicer than Sir
Arthur. I don't like Sir Arthur, Pansy don't like Sir Arthur,
nor Papa Peter, nor Major Frankland."

" He's lovely," said Pansy, " only he's too big. They're all
too big except Papa Peter, Aunt Cecil, when I grow up I
should like to marry Captain O'Donnell — shouldn't you ? "

Lady Cecil blushed a little, laughed a little, and kissed the
speaker.

" Captain O'Donnell is flattered by your preference, /
still, I think he might find it tedious waiting until you grow up.
Who'll reach the Keeper's Tree yonder first ? One — two —
three — now."

The game of romps began, and Pansy forgot her matrimonial
projects. iVnd the object of her nine-year-old affections ran up-
stairs, and was shown into Sir Peter's room. The tableau was
as Lady Cecil had described it, only Sir Arthur had ceased
reading, and was gazing, as well as Sir Peter, at the calm face
opposite, and the white rapid fingers and gleaming needle.

" I trust I am not an intruder. Sir Peter," the young Irish-
man said, coming forward, "but hearing of your accident — "

"Come in, O'Donnell — come in," the sharp querulous voice
of the invalid said ; "I wanted to see you. If you're tired sit-
ting here. Sir Arthur, perhaps O'Donnell will take your place."

" With pleasure. Sir Peter." The chasseur came forward,
saluted the lady and the Cornish baronet, and took Sir Arthur's
vacated seat.

"And with your permission. Sir Peter, now that Captain
O'Donnell has come, I will go too. I have not been out to-
day, and my head aches. I will administer your medicine,
though, before I go."

He took it submissively from her hand. Captain O'Donnell
watched every movement, and followed with his eyes the stately
figure out of the room. She closed the door after her, and they
were quite alone.

"This is a very strange — a very remarkable occurrence. Sir
16*

370

*'AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY.'*

Peter," he began. ''The talk is, that you saw a ghost Now
I thought ghosts were exploded ideas ? Will you pardon me if
I think so still ?"

''I wish to Heaven / could," Sir Peter groaned. The after-
noon sunshine was pouring into the room ; his nerves had re-
covered their tone, and he had a companion. He could talk
sufficiently calmly now of the apparition. "Unfortunately for
me, it admits of no doubt. As plainly as I see you sitting
here beside me, I saw Katherine Dangerfield last night. I saw
her face plainly — plainly in the light of the moon ; the night
was clear as day. Saw her as I have seen her a hundred times
here in Scarswood."

" And she vanished when you looked at her ? "

" I don't know when she vanished. My horse saw her as
well as I ; Wilson will tell you he found him trembling all over
with terror when he came up. He threw me — I fell and
fainted. I remember no more until I opened my eyes here in
this room, and — " He stopped and cast a look of nervous dread
at the door.

"And you thought you saw the ghost a second time. You
mistook Miss Herncastle for your dead relative ; she wasn't a
relative, but you know what I mean. She is very like her, is
she not ? "

"Awfully, frightfully like her," the baronet answered, in a
trembling tone. "O'Donnell, I tell you I'm afraid of that
woman — I don't know why, but I am. Perhaps because of her
resemblance to Katherine ; perhaps — I tell you, I don't know
why, but her eyes, her face, her voice, frighten me. They are
so like — so like."

"And yet you persist in having her with you, in your room."

"Yes ; and I can't tell you why there either. She frightens
me, and she fascinates me. Why did she ever come here ?
W7w is she ? How dare she come to be so horribly like that
dead girl?"

" How, indeed ! " Captain O'Donnell answered. " Sir Peter,
I have a great curiosity concerning this Katherine Dangerfield.
Have you any picture of her ? I would give a good deal to
see one."

" Yes, I have," the sick man said. " Do you see that escri-
toire over there ? Open that — the key is in it ; open the third
drawer to the left and you will find a photograph of Katherine
Dangerfield, taken a month before she died. You will see the
wonderful likeness at once."

" AS IN A GLASS, DARKL F."

Redmond O'Donnell obeyed. He unlocked the escritoire,
opened the drawer, and produced a picture wrapped in silver
paper. It was a photograph, soft and clear as an engraving,
and beautifully tinted. The chasseur took it to the window,
and gazed upon it long and earnestly.

The story of Katherine Dangerfield had been told him in
brief, by different people at different times, and its sad pathos
had touched him deeply. Her only fault had been that she
had loved "not wisely, but too well," had trusted too implicitly,
and had believed the man she loved, and was ready to endow
with her fortune, as generous and faithful as herself. And all
had been torn from her in one bitter hour— all, and Death, the
only friend who had been true, came to her aid. And now he
held her picture, taken during the happiest period of her life,
the month before her marriage. And, as Sir Peter had said, the
first thing that had struck him was the strong resemblance to
Miss Herncastie. No one could fail to look upon the two and
not exclaim, " How like ! " Only at first glance, though ; the
more you looked, the more this first striking similarity seemed
to fade. It was like, but could never have been taken for the
portrait of my lady's mysterious governess.

He sat down and deliberately analyzed the features one by
one — the points of resemblance. He began at the beginning.
First the hair, this pictured hair, was brown — pale chestnut
brown, without a tinge of red or yellov^ : that is if the tinting
had been true to nature. It rippled over neck and shoulders
and down to the slim girl's waist, a bright, feathery cloud.
Miss Herncastle's hair was jet-black, straight as an Indian's,
and twisted in great shining coils about her head. . The brow
in the picture was broad, open, intelligent. Miss Herncastle's
hair was worn crepe down to her straight black brows. The
pictured eyes laughed up at you from the card ; the eyes of the
governess were grave, somber, smileless. The nose was the
same — the same precisely — neither straight nor yet reh'oussd^
not classic, and not snub. The mouth was handsome — the
handsomest feature of all — square-cut at the corners, sweet,
strong, like the eyes, smiling, and with bright, resolute lips.
The shape of Miss Herncastle's w^as the same, the expression
entirely different. All the hard lines, the rigid compression,
the grave resolution of the living mouth were wanting in the
pictured one. The chin was alike — a curved chin — a square,
determined mouth, the throat was graceful and girlish, the
shoulders sloping — the waist long and slender ; Miss Hern-

372

**AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY^

castle's proportions were those of what men call " a fine
woman."

The moments passed ; in the sick room all was very still.
The buzzing of the big blue flies on the pane, the restless toss-
ing of the invalid, the chirp and rustle of summer life without,
all were plainly audible. Had Captain O'Donnell fallen
asleep over the picture ? Peter broke out at last impatiently :

''Well, O'Donnell, are you dreaming there? What do you
think of the picture ? Did you ever see such a likeness ? It
might be Miss Herncastle's portrait, might it not ? "

O'Donnell rose up and returned to his place by the bedside,
picture in hand.

" No," he said, with slow, thoughtful gravity, " never Miss
Herncastle's picture; there is not one expression of this face
like any she ever wears. Shall I tell you, Sir Peter, what it is
like?"

" Of course ; for what other reason have I shown it to you ? "

" Then here's my opinion : If Katherine Dangerfield, instead
of dying and being buried yonder in Castleford cemetery, had
lived, and vowed vengeance for her wrongs, and came back
here to wreak that vengeance, this pictured face would look
now as Miss Herncastle's does."

Sir Peter half raised himself, alarmed, excited.

" What do you mean ? " he asked.

" This. This photographed face is full of latent power, unde-
veloped, unsuspected — to be used, as circumstances turn, for
good or evil. If Katherine Dangerfield had lived, and lier life
had been a happy one, she would have been one of the best,
the bravest, the most womanly of women — a model wife, an
excellent mother, a noble matron. If she had lived, wronged
and embittered as her life was, I believe. Sir Peter, there is no
evil, no depth scarcely, to which she would not be capable of
sinking to gratify her revenge. It is the face of one who might
have been a dangerous woman. This face looks a little, a very
little, like Miss Herncastle. If she had not died, I should feel
certain Miss Herncastle and Katherine Dangerfield were one
and the same."

There was a blank pause. Sir Peter lay back among his
pillows, terrified, helpless. The chasseur's face was full of
dark, grave thought.

" Good Heavens, O'Donnell ! " Sir Peter gasped at length.
" What do you mean ? "

" I hardly know — yet. I feel like a man groping in the

''AS m A GLASS, darkly:'

373

dark. Sir Peter, there can be no doubt— (it is absurd of me to
suppose such a thing) — there can be no doubt Katherine Dan-
gerfield did die ? "

No doubt ? " cried Sir Peter, shocked beyond all expression.

Of course there was no doubt. Good Heavens above !
O'Donnell, I — I never heard of such a thing. Dead ! Why,
certainly she's dead — dead and buried six years ago. You can
see her grave any day, for that matter, in Castleford cemetery."

" Ah ! no doubt. Did I not say it was a most absurd sup-
position on my part ? Of course she's dead, as you say. You
saw her dead, no doubt ? "

" Saw her dead ! " the baronet repeated, with a shudder ; "I
only wish I had not. I saw her dead — cold, and white, and still
— I see her so every day of my life ; and Talbot saw her — ask
Talbot — he was one of the men who saw her laid in her coffin
and in her grave. Dead ! Yes, she's dead — dead — dead.
Poor little Kathie ! "

His voice choked \ he turned away and covered his face with
his hands. His nerves were all unstrung ; he was weak and
ailing, frightened and lonely, his very life was fast becoming a
torture to him, and he broke down. O'Donnel looked at him
in surprise.

" You were fond of your cousin, then — I mean of this un-
happy young lady ? Why I thought — "

''You thought right," the little baronet cried, passionately,
" I was notioxi^ of her. I was a brute, a villain, a cowardly
wretch. I insulted her — brutally, I tell you, and she — " His
eyes dilated, his face grew ashen white. "I see her still,
O'Donnell," he whispered, huskily, as she stood before me
then — like death, like snow, frozen and white, swearing that
oath of vengeance : '■Livi7tg, I will pursue you to the ends of
the earth. Dead, I will come from the grave and haunt you.'
She swore it, and she was one, living or dead, to keep her word.
What I saw last night has not been the Hving ; and she will
come to me from her shroud and coffin again and again, until
I go raving mad at last."

His voice rose almost to a shriek of passion and fear. The
last remnant of man's courage died out of the miserable little
wretch's body, and. he burst out into a tempest of womanish
sobs and tears.

O'Donnell sat silent watching him — pity, contempt, disgust,
all in his grave, silent face. He made no attempt to console
or soothe this stricken sinner ; most of all that was soft and

374

«' AS IN A GLASS, DARKL F."

tender in his nature had died a natural death years ago. He
sat grimly enough now, waiting for a lull in the storm. It came.
Even Sir Peter Dangerfield had manUness enough left to be
ashamed of crying like a whipped schoolboy.

" I — I can't help it, O'Donnell," he said, piteously. If you
only knew what I have gone through since that time, what I
have suffered, what I still suffer, you would feel for me. Kath-
erine Dangerfield is dead, and I saw her spirit last night, as I'll
see it again and again, until I too go mad or die."

"We have an old adage in our country," O'Donnell said,
curtly, "'that sorrow is soon enough when it comes.' Now,
for my part, I don't believe in ghostly visitations of any kind,
in common with most people ; but that is a point we won't
argue. You believe you saw a ghost last night. Now, Sir
Peter, is it not barely possible that Miss Herncastle may be a
somnambulist, and that all unconsciously she got out of bed
en sac de nuit, and that it was she you saw under the King's
Oak ? "

But Sir Peter shook his head.

"No," he said. " Some one asked that very question — the
earl I think it was — and Miss Herncastle replied that she had
never walked in her sleep in her life — that she had gone to her
room at half-past ten. And it wasn't Miss Herncastle — it was
no resemblance this time — it was Katherine Dangerfield."

Captain O'Donnell shrugged his shoulders. Argument was
wasted here. He drew out his watch. It was past six now,
and nearing the Scarswood dinner hour.

" I won't stay to dine to-day, I think," he said rising. "Sir
Peter, with your permission I'll keep this picture for the present :
I don't see my way very clearly through this maze, and I ca7i't
believe your solution of the enigma. Katherine Dangerfield
may not have been noted for an overstock of sound sense in
her lifetime, but I can't believe that her ghost would remain so
supremely silly after six years' interment as to take nocturnal
rambles to Scarswood on purpose to keep a most sensational
vow. I simply can't believe it. Shall I ring for some one to
take my place ? "

He rang. Mrs. Butler and one of the maids came, and the
chasseur took his departure. The family were in their rooms
dressing ; he made his way out unnoticed ; the lawn and ter-
races were deserted also, and he passed out of the house and
the gates undisturbed.

He walked on to the town, lost in thought. What did this

*'AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY r

375

mystery mean ? He might have thought the ghost a myth, a
figment of Sir Peter's superstitious, overheated brain, but there
was the evidence of the horse. The groom had found him
quivering with terror — he had thrown his master in his frightened
bound — and Saracen was a calm, well-tempered animal on or-
dinary occasions. Saracen was not superstitious, nor likely to
be terrified by optical illusions. The horse had seen something
— now what had that someting been — goblin or human ?

It was a riddle the Chasseur d'Afrique could not read. He
walked on with knitted brow and perplexed mind into and be-
yond the town. It was very quiet ; the respectable fourth-class,
shop-keeping, rate-paying citizens were in their back parlors
drinking tea. An opal gray sky was overhead, a faint evening
breeze was stirring, and the golden evening stars twinkled amid,
the golden gray. In its peace and hush Captain O'Donnell
went on, out into the suburbs, opened the quaint old gate, and
entered the solitary churchyard. The deepest hush of all
reigned here ; not a sound but the twitter of the birds in their
nests and the rustling of the leaves could be heard. He passed
on, looking at the inscriptions on the tombstones, until at last
he reached that solitary corner, where, under the waving fir-
trees, six years ago, they had laid Sir John Dangerfield's adopted
daughter.

He paused. The gray-stone was overrun with clematis, the
grave with grass and weeds. He pushed aside the fragrant blos-
soms and read the inscription :

Katherine,

.^TAT 17.

Resurgam.

" Resurgam — I shall rise again ! " In the light of these lat-
ter events, how ominous the word sounded — like a threat from
the dead. He stood there until the last yellow ghmmer died
out of the western sky, and the whole expanse had turned cold
and gray. The rising night wind struck chill, when at last he
aroused himself and turned away.

But before he had gone five yards he paused. Then after that
momentary pause, he passed into the shadow of a tree-shaded
walk, and stood still.

A man and a woman were standing just inside the gate,
screened from passers-by outside, by the elms that waved above
it. Even at that distance he recognized the woman's figure —
it was not to be mistaken — it was Miss Herncastle.

376

'*AS IN A GLASS, DARKLY^

Fate seemed to take a malicious pleasure in throwing him
across her path, in foredooming him to play the spy.

He stood still; it was impossible to go a step onward with-
out being seen, and what would the governess think, but that
he had dogged her steps again ? He stood still. The backs of
both were turned upon him, but he knew Miss Herncastle's
stately figure and bearing, and dark, plain dress immediately.
The man — who was the man ? For one moment O'Donnell's
heart gave a bound — a sickening bound of fear. Was it — was
it Sir Arthur Tregenna ? The height was the same ; this man
wore a gray suit and a conical felt hat ; so did the Cornish bar-
onet upon occasions. Could it be the chivalrous, the high-
minded Cornishman could stoop to such deception, such double-
deahngs, such treachery to himself and Lady Cecil as to keep
private assignations with the governess?

As the thought crossed his mind the two turned, moved for-
ward to the gate, and he saw with a sense of unutterable relief
that he was mistaken. It was not Sir Arthur, it was in no way
like him. He saw the face of an utter stranger. The daylight
still lingered, and the moon shone radiantly bright ; he saw their
faces clearly. Miss Herncastle, calm, statuesque, as usual ;
the man tall, fair, student-like, with stooping shoulders and a
pale, thin face. They were speaking as they approached the
gate and him. In the profound stillness the last words of Miss
Herncastle in her rich, sweet, full tones, came to him :

'•You must go back, Henry, and at once, to-night. That
you have been at Castleford at all will cause talk enough. I
had to tell you Marie De Lansac was here, but I certainly did
not expect you to answer my letter in person. Say good- by
now, and let me go on alone ; it would be fatal to all my proj-
ects to be seen with you."

Their hands clasped. The man murmured something ear-
nestly, in too low a tone to be heard. Miss Herncastle's clear
voice responded :

" Give up ! give up now, after all I have suffered, all I have
worked so hard to accomplish, all I have done already ! Never !
You should know me better than that. The first installment of
my revenge I have had. What I have sworn, 1 Avill do ; then,
I care little what comes. Good-night, my kind, my faithful
friend ; go back to London at once."

She pulled a thick lace vail she wore over her face, and walked
away, with her own rapid, resolute step. The man lingered for

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. yjj

nearly ten minutes ; then he, too, opened the gate and disap-
peared in the gloaming.

And Captain O'Donnell ! He stood like one petrified.
Marie De Lansac J his sister's Louisianian name, on Miss Hern-
castle's lips — and to this man ! What did it mean? And her
revenge — the oath she had made, and meant to keep ! What
strange, incomprehensible jumble of mysteries was it altogether?
His head absolutely turned giddy for a moment with the surg-
ing thoughts that filled his brain.

Who was Miss Herncastle ? He glanced at the grave, and
the gray stone, gleaming in the moonrays, that told the legend
of Katherine Dangerfield's death. If Katherine Dangerfield
were dead — if — what reason had he to doubt it? And yet ! —
and yet ! — his blue eyes flashed, his lips set, his face grew like
iron with sudden, stern resolve.

" I'll get at the bottom of this juggling. I'll find out who
you are, my mysterious Miss Herncastle ! I'll find out whether
it was Katherine Dangerfield's ghost Sir Peter saw under the
King's Oak, or — a living woman ! And, above all, I'll find out
what the name of Marie De Lansac has to do with you or that
man ! "

CHAPTER XVI.

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

ADY CECIL," Lord Ruysland said, a word with
you ! "

It was an ominous beginning. The earl never
called his daughter by her proper name of title unless
in a state of unusual gravity or unusual displeasure. They
were alone together. The hour was just after dinner, and the
ladies, among whom the governess had figured, had adjourned
from the dining to the drawing room. Miss O'Donnell had
gone to the piano, my lady perused a popular novel. Miss
Herncastle seated herself by the window with that filmy lace
embroidery — Lady Dangerfield kept her constantly employed
— and Lady Cecil, feeling oppressed and out of spirits some-
how, had thrown a black lace mantilla over her head and white
summer dress, and stepped through one of the. open windows

378 THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

out upon the lawn, and down to the terrace. She v/as pacing
slowly and thoughtfully up and down, a lovely vision in the
sunset, when her father's voice abruptly spoke behind her.

She turned in surprise. She had imagined him with the
other gentlemen. Sir Arthur, the major, and Sir Peter, over the
wine and after-dinner talk, and here he was beside her, with, a
face of ominous gravity.

" With me, papa ? Certainly. What is it ? "

But her heart fluttered, guiltily a little, as she asked the
question, what it was — something very unpleasant, flashed
upon her at once.

"What is it?" Do you really need to ask that question,
Lady Cecil ?• I have come to demand an explanation of your
extraordinary conduct of late."

" My extraordinary conduct ! Really, papa — "

" That will do ! You feign surprise very well, my dear ;
but it doesn't deceive me. I repeat — your extraordinary con-
duct ! What do you intend by it ? In regard to Miss Hern-
castle, I mean, of course."

" Miss Herncastle ! "

" Lady Cecil, be good enough to cease repeating everything
I say as if you were a parrot," her father said, more irritation
in his face and tone than she had ever seen or heard there be-
fore in her life. "Your hearing is not defective, I hope — I
said Miss Herncastle. What do you mean by your conduct to
that young woman ? Why do you insist upon forcing her
society upon us — by making her one of the family, as it were
— by having her to dine with us? Oh, don't lay the blame
upon Ginevra — she would never think of so preposterous a
thing if left to herself. I repeat once more. Lady Cecil — what
does it mean ? "

" Really, papa," — and Lady Cecil tried to laugh — "I did
not know so simple a matter would so seriously exercise yoii.
I thought you believed in equality, fraternity — were a radical
of the most rabid sort in politics, and — "

"Keep to the point, if you please," the earl interrupted,
impatiently \ " we're not talking politics now. It does not
matter what I believe, whether I am radical or conservative in
this affair, that I can see. It is a purely personal and family
concern. Cecil ! " — sternly — " has Sir Arthur Tregenna for-
mally proposed to you yet ? "

The faint carnation rose up all over Lady Cecil's fair, pearly
face.

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. 379

" No, papa."

"I thought not," but his face darkened as he said it.
"And whose fault is that 2 Not Sir Arthur's, I am very cer-
tain."

" Sir Arthur's, surely, papa. What would you have ? The
absurd customs of England require that a lady shall wait until
she is asked. Do you wish me to go to Sir Arthur and order
him to marry me ? "

" I wish you to act like a rational being, to cease acting in
such a manner as to render a proposal forever impossible.
Are you willfully blind, that you cannot see he is falling in love
with that confounded nursery governess ? "

"My sight is perfect," Lady Cecil answered, coldly; "and
if it were not I still might see that. Sir Arthur takes little
pains to conceal his preference. As it is probably the first
time that austere gentleman ever felt a touch of the tender
passion, it would be thousand pities to come between him and
it. /certainly shall not."

" What do you mean ? "

" This, papa," Lady Cecil said, " there is no use in getting
angry or excited — that if Sir Arthur prefers Miss Herncastle to
me I shall never be Miss Herncastle' s rival. And if he can
honestly and truly fall in love with her, as I believe it is in his
nature to love, I honor and congratulate him on his choice.
Why should you or I try to thwart it ? He is not bound to
me in any way ; he cares as little for me, in the way of love,
as I do for him. Miss Herncastle is a much cleverer woman
than I am, or ever shall be, and if he wishes it, why, let him
marry her. She certainly suits him much better than I should,
and for the difference in rank, if he can overlook that, we
surely may. Of this be very certain," — her eyes flashed and
her color rose — " I will accept no man's hand while his heart
is another woman's, though his fortune were three times thirty
thousand a year."

The earl listened, amaze, scorn, anger, passion, swaying al-
ternately over his placid face ; but he heard her to the end.
His eyes were fixed upon her proud, resolute face, the sneer
that rarely left them curling his lips cynically now.

" Fine sentiments," he said ; "fine heroics, taken second-hand,
no doubt, from the Castleford circulating library. You appear
to have changed your mind of late, my dear ; we did not hear
these lofty sentiments when we spoke together some weeks ago
of this matter in London. But things have changed since then,

38o 2"^-^ STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE,

and other actors have appeared upon the scene. I wonder now "
— lie folded his arms and looked at her with sneering sarcasm
■ — " whether the coming of that very fine young Irishman, Red-
mond O'Donnell, has had anything to do with it ? "

Long practice had taught him to stab home — surely and
strongly. The flush of color that had arisen to her face died
out as he spoke, leaving her whiter than her dress.

This is your revenge," she said slowly ; " but I think my
father might have spared me that. From other lips I should
deem it an insult.".

Indeed. And why, I wonder ? He's very handsome, he
has the dash and the air noble you women love, and he is the
'hero of a thousand battles.' You all like strong warriors,
don't you? And then — it may have been fancy — but I used
to think, long ago in Ireland, that you were in some danger of
— you understand, I suppose ? Did you ever wonder, my dear,
why I carried you off so suddenly ? That was why. You
were only sixteen, and sixteen is so supremely silly. And
though I don't think your youthful penchaiit was returned at
that time, Irish hearts are proverbially inflammable, and it
might have been. Being poor as a church mouse yourself, it
would hardly have done to ally you to another church mouse
as long as bread and cheese are requisites of existence. I
carried you off, and you pined on the stem for a few weeks, then
Cecil was herself again. Now the hero of Torryglen is with
us once more ; and I remember the French have a proverb
about one always returning to his first love. Your conduct of
late has certainly been so extraordinary that there must be
some reason for it."

He stopped.

She never spoke. She was white to the lips with some pain-
ful inward emotion ; her brown eyes looked straight before her,
with a light no one had ever seen, before in the soft eyes of La
Reine Blanche.

" You do not answer," her father said, beginning to feel that
he might have gone too far ; perhaps then I am wrong after
all in my suppositions. If so, I beg your pardon. But this
matter lies so near my heart, my dear, that you will forgive me
if in my displeasure and disappointment I speak harshly."

His heart ! The Right Honorable the Earl of Ruysland's
heart ! A smile crossed his daughter's lips — a faint, bitter smile,
not pleasant to see on lips so young and sweet.

" I repeat it," her father said, as though answering that scorn-

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. 381

fill smile ; "my heart is set upon your marriage with the son of
my oljiest friend. It will be the bitterest blow of my life if that
marriage is not consummated."

*'Papa," Lady Cecil answered, "let us drop our masks —
there is no one to see or hear. Your heart is fixed on my
marriage with the son of your oldest friend. How would it be
if the son of that oldest friend were penniless as — as Redmond
O'Donnell, for instance, whom you fear so greatly? It is the
thirty thousand a year you wish me to marry, is it not ? It is
a rich and liberal son-in-law your heart is set on, I fancy. You
call it by a prettier name, but that is what it really comes to."

. " Very well, my dear — on the thirty thousand, if you will.
I am penniless, you are penniless. Is the degradation of mar-
rying a fortune greater than the degradation of living on the
bounty of a man like Peter Dangerfield? You are an earl's
daughter, a reigning belle, high-born and high-bred, and you
are a pauper. The food you eat, the roof that shelters you, the
dress you wear, are unpaid for. This sort of thing can't go on
forever. A crisis is very near — flight, exile for me ; for you,
my proud, high-spirited Cecil, what ? "

She leaned against a slender rose-wreathed pilaster, and
covered her face with both hands, her heart too full for words.

"Truth is unpleasant," her father pursued, "but there are
times when it must be spoken. This is one of them. You
are acting Hke a fool — I really can't help saying it — and must
be brought to your senses. Let us look the facts in the face.
You came down here with every intention of accepting Sir
Arthur — Sir Arthur comes down with every intention of pro-
posing. On the day following the picnic I know he meant to
propose ; I saw it on his face — any one might see it. Every-
thing had gone on velvet ; you had played your cards very
well," ,she winced at the words — " our object was attained.
When Ginevrasent him into the violet boudoir in search of you,
I could have sworn he would have proposed before he came
out. Five minutes after I saw that confounded Miss Hern-
castle, sent by the Demon of Mischief, no doubt, follow and
spoil all. He met her, you presented her as though she had
been his equal, and the trouble began. Without beauty, with-
out vivacity, without station, she is yet one of these women
whose subtle power is as irresistible to some men as it is incom-
prehensible. What you, with all your beauty, all your attrac-
tions, all your prior claim, have failed to do, she has done. He
is an honorable man, and with the innate simplicity of a child.

382 THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

I believe in my soul he has not the faintest idea that he is fall-
ing infatuatedly in love with her. She fascinates him, and he
is led unconsciously into the trap. She is one of your silent,
deep, dangerous sort. She will marry him — mark my words,
Queenie — that young woman will marry him."

She looked up, pale and tremulous, in the silvery dusk.

"Well, papa, and if she does? She will not be the first
governess who has married a baronet."

" My dear, there is this of it. That woman is no ordinary
governess ; she is an adventuress, and one of the deepest and
most unprincipled sort"

"Papa! this is cruel, this is unjust. You know nothing of
Miss Herncastle."

" I have eyes and I have studied physiognomy before now.
That woman is capable of deeds you never think of; she is
clever, deep-thinking, and unscrupulous. She will marry Sir
Arthur before he knows it, and the day that makes her his wife
is the day that ushers in his life-long misery. I can't stand by
and see it. You must save him, Cecil."

" Papa, it is impossible. Oh, pray let me alone. What can
I do ? I liked him, I esteemed him, I might grow to love him
in time, as a wife should do so deserving a husband. While
his heart was free, I was willing to obey you, to retrieve our
fallen fortunes, and marry him. But all that is changed. We
have fallen very low, but there is still a deeper depth than mere
poverty. If he cares for her, if he wishes to marry her, if he
loves her, in short, it would be degrading on my part to accept
his hand. I do not want to be poor, I do not want to anger
or disobey you, papa, but I cannot — I cannot — I cannot ! "

Her voice broke in a sort of sob, her brown eyes were full of
passionate pleading and pain. Her fingers tore all unseeing
the flowers from the pillar and flung them wantonly away.

" It is not too late yet," the earl said, calmly ; "the mischief
has begun — it is not done. Trust to me ; I will repair it — I
will save him."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"How?"

' ' I shall have Miss Herncastle sent away. I shall explain
to Ginevra, and at any cost the governess shall be dismissed.
And pending that dismissal she shall not be allowed to appear
in our midst. ' Lead us not into temptation.' Not a word,
Cecil : in this matter I shall act as I please. You must marry
Sir Arthur Tregenna — you shall — not fate itself can part you.

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. 383

This is the last evening of Miss Herncastle's appearance in the
drawing-room — the last week (if I can manage it so speedily)
of her stay at Scarswood. And for you, don't hold poor Tre-
genna at arm's length as you do. You avoid him on every
possible occasion ; you slip away and leave him whenever you
can. Don't let me fancy my suspicions about O'Donnell are
correct."

Lady Cecil started up, stung beyond all endurance by the last
words.

"Again Redmond O'Donnell! Papa, this is not to be en-
dured even from you. You insult me, you slander him. It
was you who brought him here. Why did you do it ? He
would never have come of his own free will — ^you insisted upon
it. And since he has been here, has he given you any ground
for your suspicions ? Has he paid me the slightest attention
beyond the most formal courtesy of a gentleman to a lady ?
Have you ever seen us together ? — has he been half a quarter
as. attentive as Major Frankland, or the rector's son? Leave
Captain O'Donnell' s name out of the discussion. Believe me,
if all your fears were as groundless as your fears of him, your
mind would be easily set at rest. He treats me with a civil in-
difference that is as unflattering as it is sincere."

She turned abruptly to leave him, a bitterness in her voice
she hardly strove to conceal, a passion in her eyes rarely seen
there.

"Have you anything more to say?" she asked abr-uptly;
"it is turning chilly, and I am cold." She shivered as she
spoke, and her fair face looked quite colorless in the fading
light. " Do as you will. It is useless to resist fate. If I
must marry Sir Arthur — I must. But if Miss Herncastle be an
adventuress, I wonder what I am ? "

She x^^^shed aside the rich curtains of silk and lace, and
stepped into the drawing-room. The lamps filled the long
apartment with golden mellow light, and Sir Arthur sat at the
governess' side. Squire Talbot had called, and he was enter-
taining Miss O'Donnell. Her brother was not present; for
that, at least. Lady Cecil was grateful.

Lady Cecil took the vacant place at the piano. Her father,
following her in, crossed without compunction to the pair in
the window recess, the lady embroidering still, the gentleman
watching the clear-cut profile as it bent over the work, the long,
white, swift fingers, and neither talking much.

" How hard you work, Miss Herncastle ! " his lordship said,

384 STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

blandly ; you put us idle people to shame. Is Sir Arthur tak-
ing lessons in needle-work ? I hope you find him an apt pupil,
my dear young lady ? "

Sir Arthur colored, partly with annoyance, partly with a
sense of compunction. Latterly it had begun to dawn upon
him that his mission to Scarswood had not been fulfilled — that
he had 7iot asked Lady Cecil Clive to be his wife. And in
part he stood committed to her. She must know v/hat had
brought him down ; she must know what had been on his lips
when Miss Herncastle entered the boudoir. And Miss Hern-
castle ! in some way he stood committed here, too. She at-
tracted him as no woman had ever done before in his life, and
he had made no secret of that attraction. To keep faith with
one, he must in a way break it to the other. Like that gal-
lant knight of the Laureate's story, " his honor rooted in dis-
honor stood." And this evening he was realizing it for the
first time.

Miss Herncastle smiled, perfectly unembarrassed, and reached
over for the dainty little basket that held her flosses and laces.
Either by accident or design, the earl never knew which, the
little basket upset, and flosses and laces fell in a shining heap
at the earl's feet. Something else fell, too — a square, hard
substance that flashed in the gaslight. Sir Arthur picked up
the basket and fancy work, his lordship the square substance.
What was it ? A portrait — an old-fashioned ivory miniature,
beautifully painted and set in a jeweled frame. His e)^es fell
upon it, and a sudden stillness of great surprise came over him
from head to foot ; then he turned round and looked Miss
Herncastle full in the face.

She met his gaze with calm composure, and reached out her
hand.

" My favorite souvenir," she said. " I hope it is not injured.
*' How stupid of me to upset the basket. Thanks, my lord."

But my lord still held the ivory miniature, still looked at
Miss Herncastle.

" I beg your pardon," he said, in an altered voice ; " it
sounds rather impertinent, but I must ask where you got this."

Miss Herncastle looked surprised.

" That ! that picture, my lord ? Oh ! * thereby hangs a tale.'
Do you know who it is ?"
" Miss Herncastle, do you ? "

" No ; and I have the greatest curiosity on the subject. That
picture came into my possession in the most accidental manner,

THE STORY OF 7HE IVORY MINIATURE. 385

and for the past six years I have been trying to discover its
owner, but as yet I have not succeeded. Her name was Mrs.
Vavasor."

" Mrs. Vavasor ! I knew more than one Mrs. Vavasor, but
none of them in the least Ukely to possess this picture."

"A^ou know the original of that picture, then, my lord?"

" Undoubtedly, Miss Herncastle. The original of this picture
is Major Lionel Cardonnell, my late wife's only brother, at
present in Quebec. May I, in turn, inquire who was Mrs.
Vavasor, and how she came to be possessed of this ? "

He was watching her — vague, strange suspicions afloat in
his mind. From first to last she was a strange, mysterious creat-
ure, this governess : an air of mystery appeared to enshroud
her ; her possession of his brother-in-law's picture seemed to
cap the climax.

Miss Herncastle met his susjoicious gaze with the calm of
conscious rectitude.

"Two questions, my lord, which, unfortunately, I am incax^a-
ble of answering. Six years ago I gave music lessons in the
family of a mercantile gentleman — his name was Jones, and
he has since emigrated to Australia with his family ; and visiting
that family I met Mrs. Vavasor. We became very friendly,
not to the point of intimacy, though, and one day, upon my
leaving the house, she gave me this portrait, and asked me to
take it to a jeweler's to have one of the stones replaced in
the case. She was suffering from headache herself she said,
and dare not venture out, and servants were too careless to be
trusted. She told me, laughingly, that it was the portrait of an
old lover of hers. I took it, and for four days again did not
visit the family. When I returned I discovered Mrs. Vavasor
had suddenly gone way ; they had discovered something
concerning her not to her credit — had quarreled and parted.
She had gone to France, they said, and refused to have
anything to do with her property. Under these circumstances
I kept the picture until she should send for it. She never did
send for it, and I have never met her since. I nc\ er heard the
name of the gentleman whose likeness it is until to-day."

She threaded her needle, and placidly went on with her work.
The earl listened in profound silence. It sounded plausible
enough, and yet he did not believe her. But then, he was prej-
udiced against Miss Herncastle. He handed it back to her
and arose.

"What was your Mrs. Vavasor like, Miss Herncastle?"
17

386 THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

"She was a little, dark woman of French extraction, I be-
lieve, in spite of her English name, with black eyes and hair,
and an incessant smile. As a rule, people called her very pretty.
Her first name was Harriet."

" Harriet ? Yes — I see — I see. It was Harriet Lelacheur,
to a dead certainty — Mrs. Harman, rather, under an alias. I
thought so from the first. I thought her dead years ago."

He sauntered away. Sir Arthur in turn took the ivory min-
iature and gazed at it.

Did yoic know Major Cardonnell, Sir Arthur ? But I sup-
pose you must have been too young."

" No, I never saw Lionel Cardonnell," the baronet said;
heard the story often, though. Very handsome face, is it not ?
— much handsomer than that of the late Countess of Ruysland,
and yet like her, too."

" You knew the countess ? "

" Certainly not. The Countess of Ruysland died before her
daughter was a week old, but I have often seen her picture.
Lady Cecil wears one, and there is a large painting at Clive
Court."

Does Lady Cecil resemble her mother? If so, her mother
must certainly have been very beautiful."

" She does not in the least resemble her mother — her father,
either, as you may see — nor any relative of the Clive or Car-
donnell famiUes. Miss Herncastle, will you think it strange if
I tell yoyi—you resemble at times, in the most singular man-
ner, Lady Ruysland ? "

" Impossible, Sir Arthur ! "

" It is perfectly true. His lordship saw the resemblance the
first evening he met you — Lady Cecil has spoken often of the
singular familiarity of your face. I did not remark it to her,
but I know it is your resemblance to her mother. Something
in the expression, something in the poise of the head and the
color of the eyes, are precisely the same as in her ladyship's
portraits. You are much more like the late Lady Ruysland
than her own daughter."

Her self-command was wonderful, but the filmy-web of
flossy lace dropped suddenly in her lap, and her face turned
from him to the purple twilight, where the odorous roses slept,
and the tall arum hlies liung their snowy heads. It was a
minute before she could trust herself to speak. Then her soft,
musical laugh chimed on the stillness, her smiling face turned
to him once more.

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. 387

^' Another unaccountable resemblance," she said. "Really,
Sir Arthur, I begin to think I must be a most abnormal sort of
a person. I startle poor, nervous Sir Peter by my real or
fancied resemblance to a young lady relative of his dead and
gone, I startle the earl by my resemblance to his late wife ; I
wonder now whose double I shall find myself next ? "

" It is odd," Sir Arthur answered, looking at her gravely.
"Your resemblance to the late Miss Katherine Dangerfield
must be very striking indeed. Mr. Talbot, of Morecambe,
is almost as much impressed by it as Sir Peter. Your likeness
to Lady Ruysland's portrait is only seen at times, and then not
very strongly. Still it is there."

"And this handsome young olBcer is Lady Ruysland's
brother. I have puzzled myself a thousand times trying to
imagine who it could be, so it is satisfactory to know even that
much. But will you think me impertinently curious. Sir
Arthur, if I should ask to know even more? There are
reasons, not easily to be explained, connected with Mrs. Vava-
sor, that make me extremely desirous to know all I can of her
antecedents. Was this gentleman — so greatly above her in rank
as he must have been — really her lover ? "

" Mrs. Vavasor? But you forget, Miss Herncastle, I do not
•know your Mrs. Vavasor. Lionel Cardonnell has not set foot
in England for over five- and-twenty years. He has been
stationed at every military depot in the Canadas, the Prov-
inces, and Bermuda. At present he is in Quebec. Your Mrs.
Vavasor may have known him out there."

" No," Miss Herncastle replied, " I fancy not. She knew
him in England, and very long ago. Her maiden name was
Harriet Lelacheur."

" Oh," cried Sir Arthur, a new light of intelligence breaking
over him. " Harriet Lelacheur. Then it is quite clear, of
course. And you knew Mrs. Harman, did you. Miss Hern-
castle ? "

" I have met her. She called herself Mrs. Vavasor, though
an alias, possibly."

" Or possibly she married again after Harman' s death. Well,
Miss Herncastle, she told you the truth concerning Cardonnell
— he was her lover."

" And would have been her husband if he could — is that
true also. Sir Arthur ? "

" Perfectly true, I believe."

" Lady Ruysland — his sister — carried her off to some lonely

388 THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

place on the Cornish coast, and imprisoned her there, while he
exchanged into a regiment ordered to Canada," pm'sued Miss
Herncastle.

" Again, quite true. I see she has been making you her con-
fidante. He is married there — to a French Canadian, I be-
lieve, of great wealtli, and great beauty, and no doubt laughs
when he recalls his first grande passion for his sister's femmede
chauibre, and congratulates himself upon his narrow escape.
Still, if one may venture to express an opinion on so delicate
a matter, it can hardly be called a very creditable act on the
part of the late countess."

" What ! " the governess cried, " to save her brother from a
designing adventuress — to save him from blighting all his pros-
pects— ruining his life by a marriage with such a woman as
that?''

He looked at her in surprise, and a little, perhaps, in dis-
pleasure.

"A designing adventuress? But she was 7tot a designing
adventuress in those days. She was very young and very im-
pulsive, and very much in love. So was he. The end may
have justified the means, but I doubt it. She was beneath him
in rank, certainly, but they loved each other very sincerely.
May a man not stoop sometimes to raise the woman of his
choice to his own social level, and yet both be perfectly happy ? "

This was treading on delicate ground. His eyes brightened
as he spoke ; he looked at her eagerly. Miss Herncastle
picked up her work, took another needleful of floss, and went
calmly on.

" Certainly, if the woman of his choice be a lady. But that
Harriet Ivclacheur could never have been. From my experi-
ence of her she must always have been underbred, selfish, coarse,
and wicked. These qualities may not have shown in the happy
days of her youth — a lover's blind eyes may not have seen
them ; believe me, though, they were always there. It Avas a
fortunate escape for Major Cardonnell ; he has reason to con-
gratulate himself, and thank his sister's clever strategy. By the
way, though, Lady Ruysland and her ex-waiting-maid must have
become reconciled afterward, from what I heard the latter say."

She was working industriously once more. The Cornish
baronet was watching her.

" They did. My lady, by way of recompense, I suppose,
dowered her waiting-maid, and married her to a tradesman of
the place ; his name was Harman. He died before the first

THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE. 389

year of his married life had expired, leaving his young wife and
a babe of a fortnight old. Of course, of ail this I know nothing
personally ; I have heard my poor father, though, and Lord
Ruysland speak of it so often that it seems familiar to me as a
household word."

" And Lady Ruysland came to the aid of her servant again,
I suppose, in her hour of v/idowhood and adversity. She was
noble in that, at least."

"She was noble in all things," Sir Arthur answered ; "it was
a loyal and generous nature, but with a passionate pride, a
fiery temper, a latent jealousy and recklessness that have
wrecked many a noble nature before. It is not a pleasant
story. Miss Herncastle, but at least it is no secret. She flew to
her humble friend, not to succor, but for shelter."

" For shelter," Miss Herncastle repeated, looking at him
steadily ; "and died in her arms."

" Ah ! you know the story. Yes, in that humble cottage,
with only her old servant by her side, poor, passionate, erring
Lady Ruysland died. She was insanely jealous — who is to tell
Avhether with or without cause ? — of one who had been her
rival years before, younger, fairer than herself, as highly born,
but poor. His lordship was absent, in Italy — rumor said, to
be near her. Very likely rumor erred, as it usually does ; at
least her ladyship believed it, and on the night of the earl's re-
turn a violent scene ensued. He left her in high anger ;
bitter words had passed ; and in the frenzy of her rage and
jealousy, she fled. Next morning she was nowhere to be
found. All day they looked for her in vain. At nightfall a
messenger came to Clive Court from Mrs. Harman, summon-
ing his lordship. A daughter had been born, a wife was
dead."

Once more the embroidery dropped in Miss Herncastle's
lap. Her eyes were dilated, fixed on his face ; her Hps were
breathless and apart in the intensity of her interest.

"They brought the poor dead lady home, the child they left
with Mrs. Harman to nurse. Whether or no Loi'd Ruysland
really had or had not wronged his wife, no one will ever know
now. Her death was a terrible blow to him — for a time."
The speaker paused a second, glanced across at his lordship's
serenely high-bred, placid countenance^ and smiled. " For a
time. We lose our nearest and dearest, and the world goes
round much the same as ever, and we with it, and we cat,
drink, and are merry, and — forget. Clive Court was shut up,

390 THE STORY OF THE IVORY MINIATURE.

Mrs. Harman was handsomely pensioned, and the baby, I.ady
Cecil, left with her.

For two years Lord Ruysland was absent ; then a letter from
Mrs. Harman recalled him. She was of French extraction,
and had taken a sudden fancy to visit her relations in Paris —
would his lordship come and take his little daughter and let
her go. He returned to England, received Lady Cecil from
her hands, placed her with some relatives in a remote part of
England to grow up, and returned to his wandering life. Mrs.
Harman left England with her daughter, and I fancy the earl
never heard of her from that day to this, until he chanced to
see his brother-in-law's picture a few moments ago. Miss
Herncastle, Lady Cecil has left the piano ; after all this talking
will you not reward me by a little of your matchless music ? "

She arose at once and went with him to the piano. For
nearly an hour she sat playing bravely and brilliantly, he
seated near, his face in shadow, his ears drinking in those
sweetest strains. Then she got up, and for the first time in
his experience of her, held out her hand as she said good-night.

You have done me a great favor to-night. Sir Arthur," she
said; "greater than you know. Let me thank you, and —
good-night."

He looked up at her in surprise. " A great favor," he re-
peated, holding her firm, cold hand in his clasp ; ''I don't un-
derstand. Miss Herncastle."

She smiled — a strange exultant sort of smile — looking n<"t at
him, but across the room, at the figures of the Earl of Ruysland,
the Lady Cecil Clive. Long after he had reason to know what
the strange and triumphant smile meant.

"You may understand some day. Sir Arthur, and sooner than
you think. Once more, good-night."

With the words she was gone. He watched the tall, com-
manding figure as it swept across the room and disappeared.
Other eyes had witnessed that farewell ; the Errl of Ruysland
set his lips, the delicate waxen cheek of Lady Cecil flushed.

" There shall be an end of this," his lordship thought sternly.
"You have gone the length of your tether. Sir Arthur Tre-
genna ; it is high time to pull you up."

Miss Herncastle went up to her room, but not to bed. She
sat down by the open window, a starry light in her eyes, almost
a flush of color on her marble face.

" At last ! at last! at last ! " her lips said.

She was smiling — a smile not good to see. Her eyes were

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE,

39^

fixed on the night prospect, but she saw nothing. So, for up-
ward of an hour, she sat. She could hear the sounds from
below, the music, the soft hum of voices, the low laughter.
She could hear, but she hardly seemed to Hsten. She was
wrapped in herself ; that glowing, exulting face, you would not
have known it again.

"At last! at last!" she kept softly repeating, "my hour
has come."

She arose after a time. Even through her absorption the
falling dew struck chill. She arose, closed the window and
the curtains, lit the lamp, and flung the ivary miniature con-
temptuously across into an open trunk.

" Lie there," she said ; ^^yoti have done your work. I want
you no more. I have waited six years — a long time ; but
even Troy fell at last. I have heard all I wanted to hear. I
see my way clear to the end now ! "

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

TELL you, madam, you shall not go ! "
" And I tell you, sir, I shall !'''
" Lady Dangerfield, I repeat it, you shall never go
to that disreputable woman's house in that disgusting
dress."

"Sir Peter Dangerfield, /repeat it, as sure as the night after
to-morrow night comes, I will go to Mrs. Everleigh's masquer-
ade in the costume of a page."

And then husband and wife stood still, and paused for breath,
and glared at each other, as much more devoted husbands and
wives will do at times in the marital relation, I am told.

It was three days after Sir Peter's attack, and for two days
the little baronet had been sufficiently recovered to enliven the
drawing-room with the brightness of his presence. All at once
the solitude of his study had become unbearable to him ; his
bugs and beetles, his bees and butterflies afforded him no con-
solation. Lights, life, human faces, human voices, he craved
them day and night. And so it came about, in the first time of

392 ^-^^ SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

Lady Dangerfield's experience of him, her husband had nothing
else to do but watch her and grow jealous. Horribly and
ferociously jealous. He didn't care a pin's point in the way of
love for his wife, but she was his wife, and as long as a lady is
that, the gentleman whose name she honors has legal right cer-
tainly to most of her tender looks, whispered sentences, twi-
light walks, etc., etc. And Sir Peter got none of these, and
Major Frankland got a great many. In reality, in her heart of
liearts, if my lady possessed such an inmost sanctuary, she
really cared as much for one as the other. A fine fortune, a
fine establishment, fine dresses, superfine dinners — these were
the things my lady loved, above husband, child, or lover. But
all these things she had, and Major Frankland was very good-
looking, could flatter ceaselessly, knew the art of love a la
mode to perfection, and was very willing to pay in tender
glances, dreamy tete-^-tetes, whispered nothings, for the ex-
cellent Scarswood dinners, wines, horses, billiards, and the rest
of it. And to do him justice, he did not know Sir Peter was
jealous ; he meant no harm, only "this sort of thing" helped
make the long summer days pass ; and if my lady liked to
flirt, and Sir Peter did not object, why shouldn't he show his
gratitude and become flirtee as well as any other man ? In a
round danCe my lady's step suited him, their intellects were on
an average, th@y knew the same people, liked to talk of the
same things, both were well looking, unexceptionable of dress
and style — that is what it came to, and where was the harm ?
Major Frankland did not think of this — Major Frankland
never thought at all if he could help himself But that was the
sum total of his and my lady's platonic friendship.

In a vague, hazy sort of way. Sir Peter had long been a
chronic victim to a mild form of the green-eyed monster. All
at once in these two days the mild, harmless symptoms became
furiously aggravated, and the little baronet turned rampantly
jealous. He had nothing else to do but watch his wife, and
her attendant cavalier, and he did watcli them. He lost his
fear of ghosts, his interest in Miss Herncastle almost, in this
new phase of things. He sat in a corner with a big book, and
glowered vengefuUy over the top of it at the placid face of the
major and the vivacious face of his wife.

Mrs. Everleigh's fancy dress party brought matters to a
climax.

Mrs. Everleigh was an exceedingly charming lady, of whom
Castleford knew very little indeed, except that she was exces-

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

393

sively rich, very fond of spending her money, and enjoying
herself, and — a divorced wife. Where Mr. Everleigh was, and
why he had put away the wife of his bosom, a great many
asked and nobody answered. Mrs. Everleigh herself put her
perfumed mouchoir to her blue eyes when the harrowing subject
was alluded to — called Mr. Everleigh a brute and herself a
martyr, and left things in their general misty and uncomfortable
state of doubt. But she dressed elegantly, lived luxuriously,
gave the most brilliant receptions far or near. The more fas-
tidious ladies of the neighborhood, Lady Cecil among them,
fought shy of the charming Mrs. Everleigh. Lady Dangerfield
and she became bosom friends at once. And this week Mrs.
Everleigh' s masquerade came off — the only thing of its kind
that had been dreamed of — and my lady and the major were
going. The major as the "Chief of Lara," gloomy and splen-
did, and misanthropical, in black velvet and plumes, like a
mute at a funeral, and my lady was going as Kaled, Lara's
page — the devoted, the adoring Kaled. By the merest chance,
for my lady never annoyed her nervous husband with these
foolish trifles, he had discovered the ball, the costume, every-
thing that he would have been much better off without know-
ing, and his brimming cup flowed over ! He flew into a pas-
sion ; his wizen little face turned purple with rage ; he abso-
lutely swore ; he stamped his small foot, and screeched forth in
passionate falsetto, that my lady should not go.

" And I tell you I shall ! " my lady retorted, also flying into
a towering passion, and using none too ladylike language in
her sudden fit of rage. " Don't make a greater fool of your-
self. Sir Peter Dangerfield, than nature has already made you.
It's no affair of yours. Attend to your bugs and horrid crawl-
ing things, your ghosts and your gambling. Oh, yes, / know
where you were the night you saw the ghost under the King's
Oak. I don't interfere with your amusements — be good enough
not to interfere with mine."

She had trodden on her worm so long that she had forgotten
even worms sometimes turn. She had gone just a step too far.
The purple hue of rage left his face ; it turned a ghastly yellow.
He folded his small arms across his small chest, he planted his
small feet resolutely on the carpet, and he stood and looked at
iher.

" You mean to go, then. Lady Dangerfield ? "
" I mean to go, as surely as you stand there, Sir Peter Dan-
gerfield."

17*

394

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

In this disgustin.a^ dress ?"
" You called it disgusting once before. I don't perceive the
disgusting. It's a beautiful little dress, and I expect to look
lovely in it."

" You mean to go to this disreputable woman's house ? "

"You said that before also, Sir Peter. Don't let Mrs. Ever-
leigh hear you, or she may bring action against you for defama-
tion of character. Her husband was a brute, and she had to
leave him — nothing very uncommon in that — most husbands
are. She has her own fortune, and she enjoys herself in her
own way. I suppose it is infamous for a woman who has ever
had the misfortune to marry to presume to enjoy herself after."

" You mean to go to Mrs. Everleigh's masquerade ! You
mean to go in male attire ! — you, the mother of two children !
— a Vv^oman thirty-five years of age ! "

That was too much. Lady Dangerfield might have endured
a great deal ; but this last insult — this cold-blooded mention of
her age — no, she could not stand that. What right-feeling
woman, indeed, could?

" You little wretch ! " cried Sir Peter's wife ; and for a
moment the words, and the tone, and the look, brought Kath-
erine Dangerfield, and the conservatory, and six years, back
vividly before him. " How dare you use such language as that
to me ? If I never meant to go I should go now. Five-and-
thirty, indeed ! I deny it ; it is a base falsehood ! I shall not
be thirty-one until next birthday. And I shall go to Mrs. Ever-
leigh's, and I shall go as a page, just as sure as Thursday night
comes ! "

"And with Major Frankland, Ginevra?"

"With Major Frankland — a gentleman at least, who does
not insult ladies to their faces by odious falsehoods about their
age. Thirty-five, indeed ! I have no more to say to you, Sir
Peter Dangerfield, only this — I shall go ! "

" Very well. Lady Dangerfield," — ^he was yellower than ever
— he was trembling with passion ; " then liear me. If you go
to Mrs. Everleigh's as page to that man's knight, then — remain
with Mrs. Everleigh — don't come back here. I have endured
a good deal ; I will not endure this. Go if you will ; I shall
not lift a finger to prevent you ; but — don't come back. Scars-
wood is mine ; the mistresses of Scarswood have been honor-
able women always ; you shall not be the first to dwell beneath
its roof and disgrace it — that I swear ! "

For once in his life he was eloquent, for once in his life he

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

395

was dignified. He rose with the occasion ; in that moment you
would almosthdiYQ respected him. He turned and left the room.
His wife stood petrified. Was she awake — was she asleep ?
Was this Sir Peter Dangerfield ? Could she believe her senses ?

There was a second auditor to this marital outbreak' — an
auditor who stood almost as surprised as my lady herself. It
was Miss Herncastle, who had entered in the full tide of the
discussion, and had stood, not seeming to know exactly whether
to go back or go on. My lady turned and saw her now.

"Miss Herncastle !" she cried, in haughty anger. "You —
and listening ?"

"Not listening, my lady," Miss Herncastle answered, meet-
ing her angry eyes steadily. " You told me this morning when
the doublet was completed to tell you, and let you try it on.
It is finished, and, obeying your orders, I came in search of you
at once."

For Miss Herncastle had been ordered to desert the school-
room latterly, and turn seamstress in general to my lady. And
it was Miss Herncastle who, with boundless taste and good-
nature, had suggested the two costumes, and produced a little
painting of Lara and Kaled. The major and Lady Dangerfield
had both been charmed with the idea. The major was now up
in London selecting his costume, and Miss Herncastle had
ridden into town with my lady, silk and velvet, lace and feath-
ers had been purchased, the governess and my lady's maid had
since sewed, sewed, sewed night and day. Miss Herncastle
had such taste, such clever fingers, and was altogether a mira-
cle of dexterity and cheerfulness. Lady Dangerfield' s rufiied
plumage smoothed again.

" So I did. And it is ready ? But Sir Peter objects so
strongly — is so disagreeable — still I must run up and see it."

A faint, derisive smile dawned upon the face of the gover-
ness, as she stepped back to let my lady pass her.

" And when you do see it — trust me to persuade you to v^^ear
it. It will be an easy task, despite the counsels of a hundred
husbands." That was what that sfight chill smile said plainly
enough, as she followed my lady to one of the upper rooms.

The dress lay spread upon a bed — a shining vision of car-
mine silk, white ostrich plumes, gold braid and black velvet.
My lady's eyes lit up like black diamonds, as she lifted the
separate articles that composed the costume, and held them
up to glisten in the sunlight. Millinery was the one thing of all
things earthly, that most closely appealed to this woman's soul.

396

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

Oh ! — " a long inspiration. " Miss Herncastle, your taste
is perfect — perfect ; I never saw anything so lovely. And to
think that preposterous little baronet says I shall not wear it.
Delphine, take your sewing into your own room — I am going
to try this on." Exit Delphine with a curtsey. My lady sinks
into a chair. " Do my hair, Miss Herncastle," she says, im-
patiently ; "I shall try it on at least."

Miss Herncastle's deft fingers go to work. Embroidery, cos-
tume making, hair dressing — nothing seems to come amiss to
these deft white fingers.

" Now, my lady. No, don't look in the glass yet, please.
Let me dress you ; when everything is on, then you shall look
and see the effect."

And then Miss Herncastle set to work in earnest, my lady
aiding and abetting. She had locked the door; profound
silence, befitting the importance of the moment, reigned.
Silken hose, buckled shoes, little baggy silken unmentionables,
a doublet of carmine silk, all aglimmer with gold cord and lace
and sparkhng buttons; a Httle black velvet cloak, lined with
deep rose red, seeming but a brighter shade of the carmine,
clasped jauntily a little to one side, and the one end flung back
over the shoulder ; a little black velvet beret or cap, set on one
side the black crepe hair, a long ostrich plume sweeping over
the shoulder and fastened at the side by a diamond aigrette ;
a tiny rapier set in a jeweled scabbard — that was the radiant,
sparkling vision my lady's glass showed her. In all her life,
she had never looked so nearly beautiful as in this boyish trav-
esty— in this glowing carmine silk, and lofty plume, and black
velvet.

" Oh ! " she said no more — only that one long-drawn breath.
She stood and contemplated the picture in silent ecstasy.

" It is perfect — it is beautiful," Miss Herncastle murmured ;
" I never saw your ladyship look half so well in anything be-
fore. It will be the costume of the ball."

It is lovely — lovely," my lady responded, still staring in an
ecstasy; "but Miss Herncastle, 1 have already told you Sir
Peter has taken it into his imbecile head to object — to abso-
lutely forbid. He calls the dress disgraceful — nonsense — and
Mrs. Everleigh disreputable. And you have no idea how disa-
greeable and how obstinate Sir Peter Dangerfield can be when
he likes."

Miss Herncastle smiled again — that slight, chill, unpleasant
smile.

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

397

Have I not ? But 1 think I have. Men have peculiar
notions on these subjects, and with a man like Sir Peter, it is
much easier to let him have his way than to do combat. They
never yield an inch."

" Give way. That means to give up the idea of the ball —
to submit to be tyrannized over — not to wear this exquisite dress.
Miss Herncastle, do I hear you aright ? "

" You hear, but you do not understand. Of course you go
to the ball — only — let Sir Peter think you don't. It will be
easy enough to deceive him. It may involve a few falsehoods,
but your ladyship will not stickle at that. You go to the ball
in peace — and he goes to bed in peace, and what he never
knows will never grieve him."

" But how is it to be done ? "

Miss Herncastle paused a moment in deep thought, her
brows knit.

"In this way," she said. "Write to Major Frankland in
London, and tell him when he returns to Castleford, on
Thursday evening, to remain in Castleford, at one of the inns,
instead of coming to Scarswood. It is as much on his account
as on account of the page's dress that Sir Peter objects. You
can tell Sir Peter, if you choose, that you have given up the
idea — that Major Frankland has been detained in town. He
will not believe it, of course, but when the night arrives and he
does not return, and he sees you retire for the night he will.
Once in your room, you dress, of course ; bribe the coachman
to drive you quietly to Mrs. Everleigh's, and wait the breaking
up of the ball. At Mrs. Everleigh's you meet the Major ; he
can keep quiet in the town all the following day, and in the
evening come here as though direct from the station. You will
have enjoyed the ball, and Sir Peter be none the wiser."

My lady listened in calm approbation, undisturbed by con-
scientious qualms of any kind.

"A famous idea. Miss Herncastle," she said, as the gover-
ness ceased. " What a head you have for plotting and taking
people in. One would think you had done nothing else all
your life."

Miss Herncastle received this involuntary compliment with
becoming modesty, that faint, derisive smile creeping for a sec-
ond or two around her handsome mouth. But she was busy
removing the page's attire, and my lady did not see it.

" If you write to Major Frankland at once, my lady," she
said, " I will take your letter to the post-office myself, and he

398

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

will get it in time to-morrow. It will simply be doing a kind-
ness to Sir Peter to keep him in the dark about the ball ; his
imaginary troubles about ghosts are quite enough for him at
present."

She placed writing materials before my lady, and my lady, in
her spidery Italian tracery, dashed off a page or two to the
major, apprising him of the facts, of Sir Peter's unexpected dis-
approval and Miss Herncastle's clever plan. Before it was
signed and sealed. Miss Herncastle, in hat, jacket, and parasol,
stood ready to take it into town. It would be along, hot, dusty
walk, but what sacrifices will not friendship make ? She took
the letter, put it in her pocket, and left the room and the
house.

My lady watched her from the window out of sight, and some-
how a feeling of distrust and dislike, that had always lain dor-
mant there for Miss Herncastle, rose up and warned her to take
care. What was at the bottom of all this willingness to serve
and please her ? She knew she dishked Miss Herncastle, and
she felt that Miss Herncastle disliked her. What if she should
betray her to Sir Peter, after all ? And Sir Peter had looked
so uncomfortably in earnest when he had made that threat :
" You shall not be the first to dwell beneath the roof of Scars-
wood and disgrace it — that I swear ! " A cold chill came over
her for an instant in the sultry summer air. What if she
went ? What if Miss Herncastle betrayed her ? and what if he
kept his word ?

"It would be wiser to give it up," she thought ; "he might
keep his word, and then — great Heaven ! what would become
of me ? I will give it up." She turned, and her eyes fell on the
dress — the carmine silk, the diamond aigrette, the doublet, the
beret, the rapier — all her good resolutions faltered and failed at
the sight. " I won^tgwQ. it up," she exclaimed, setting her little
white teeth. " I'll go, and trust Miss Herncastle, and deceive
the jealous, tyrannical little monster, if I can. What motive
has she for betraying me ? and later, if he does find it out from
any other source, his anger will have had time to cool. I
would not miss wearing that dress, and having Jasper see how
young and pretty I look in it, for a kingdom. Thirty -five years
old, indeed ! . Odious little dwarf! I'll go as surely as I stand
here."

Miss Herncastle walked into town over the dusty highroad,
under the boiling July sun, and posted my lady's letter. She
returned weary, dusty, foot-sorb^ as the stable clock was strik-

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

399

ing six, and as she walked up the avenue, came face to face
with Sir Peter and Captain O'Donnell.

The little cowardly baronet had been seized with a sudden
^and great fancy for the tall, soldierly, fearless Irishman. A
confidant of some kind he must have. Frankland was out of
the question — Sir Arthur he stood, like most people, in awe of
— the earl would have listened suavely and sneered secretly ;
O'Donnell therefore only remained. And O'Donnell suited
him exactly : he had not a grain of fear in his nature ; he had a
cool head, a steady nerve, and he was intensely, interested in
the wliole affair. O'Donnell had taken it up, had promised to
investigate, did not believe it was a ghost, and Sir Peter
breathed again.

Both gentlemen bowed to the pale, tired-looking governess.
The baronet turned round, and looked darkly and suspiciously
after her.

Where has she been now ? " he asked, distrustfully. " What
do all these long, solitary rambles mean? Don't you see the
likeness, O'Donnell, to the picture of Katherine Dangerfield ?
You must be blind if you do not."

Oh, I see a certain likeness," O'Donnell repeated, "but
nothing so marked as to be terrifying. By the bye, I was exam-
ining the photograph with a magnifying glass and I discovered
a mark or scar of some kind on the left side of the face, right
above the temple. Now had Katherine Dangerfield a birth-
mark there, or anywhere else — the proverbial strawberry mark
on the arm, or mole on the neck, or anything of that sort ? "

"The line you saw was a scar— the scar of a wound that
came pretty near ending her life. On the voyage out to India
her nurse let her fall out of her arms ; she struck the blunt end
of a spike, and gave ilierself a horrible gash just above the
temple. I saw the scar a hundred times ; it wasn't very disfig-
uring, and she never tried to conceal it. A white, triangular
scar, that used to turn livid red when she got angry."

O'Donnell listened thoughtfully.

" Humph ! " he said, " a scar like that it would be impossi-
ble ever to obliterate, even had she lived to be eighty."
" Quit^e impossible ; but why ? "

"Oh, only idle curiosity, of course. I noticed the mark, and
it set me wondering what it might be." He paused a moment,
his eyes on the ground, his brows knit in a thoughtful frown ;
then he looked up and spoke again, quite abruptly : " you told
me, Sir Peter, she died in the house of a man named Otis, I

400

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

think — a doctor, who afterward removed to London. Do you
know if this man still lives ? "

" I know nothing about him, but there is no reason to sup-
pose he does not."

Was his Christian name Henry ? "

Sir Peter paused a moment, and thought.

" It was Henry," he answered. ''I remember now. Henry
Otis, that was his na.me."

" Was he tall, spare, very light-haired, very sallow complex-
ion and a stoop ? "

" Yes, he was. O'Donnell, have you seen him ? You de-
scribe him exactly."

" I think I have. And she died in his house, and was buried
from it, you say ? How long after did he leave Castleford for
London ? "

" I don't remember exactly — some months, I think. There
were people who said he had fallen in love with Katherine, and
was miserable here after her death. She was buried from his
house, and he erected that stone to her memory. Then he
took his mother and went up to London."

" He and his mother lived alone ? "

" They did."
They kept a servant, I suppose ? "

Sir Peter looked at him wonderingly.

" I suppose they did ; it was not his mother who opened the
door for me when I went there. O'Donnell, what are you driv-
ing at ? "

"I'll tell you presently. If the servant who lived with them
at the time of Katherine Dangerfield's death be still alive, it
strikes me I should like to see that servant. One question
more. Sir Peter, on another subject. Do you know a place
some three miles from here — a dismal, lonely sort of house
called Bracken Hollow ? "

" Certainly I know Bracken Hollow." His voice dropped to
a whisj^er, and he glanced half fearfully around. " Who in
Castleford does not ? Dismal and lonely ! I should think^o.
Bracken Hollow is a haunted house."

" Indeed," the chasseur said, his hands in his pockets, his
face immovable ; " it looks like it, I confess. And what man-
ner of ghost haunts it, and who has ever seen him ? — that is,
supposing it be a him. As far as my experience goes, ghosts
are generally of the feminine gender."

" For Heaven's sake, don't talk in that way, O'Donnell," Sir

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

401

Peter said nervously, taking his arm. " You don't know what
may hear you. Bracken Hollow is haunted ; most unearthly
sounds have been heard there — heard by more than me, and
not superstitious people either. A murder was committed there
once, many years ago, and they say — "

''Oh, of course they say. That's not evidence. I want to
hear what actually has been seen."

" Well — nothing then," Sir Peter responded reluctantly ;
"but I repeat it — horrible and unearthly cries have been heard
coming from that house often, and "by many people."

" And none of these people investigated, I suppose ? "

" It was none of their business ; they were only too glad to
give it a wide berth, and go near it no more."

'' Who lives at Bracken Hollow ?"

" An old woman, named Hannah Gowan. She was Kather-
ine Dangerfield's nurse in her youth, and Sir John |)ensioned
her off, and gave her Bracken Hollow."

'■^ Whew — 7V — w — w/^' O'Donnell's low, shrill whistle
pierced the quiet air. Katherine Dangerfield's nurse ! By
George ! that accounts — " he stopped.

Sir Peter looked at him, all his never-ending suspicions and
fears aroused.

" Accounts for what ? "

O'Donnell halted in his slow walk, and laid his hand confi-
dentially on the shoulder of the baronet, and looked calmly
down into the baronet's little wizen face.

" Sir Peter," he said, gravely, " a light is beginning to dawn
upon me ; the mysteries are lifting slowly, but, I think, surely.
I can't tell you what I think, what I suspect ; I hardly can tell
myself yet. All is confused — all is stranger than I can say ; bnt
as in a glass, darkly ! I begin to understand — to see the end.
Wait — give me time. As surely as we both live, this strange
mystery shall be sifted to the bottom, and the ghost of Scars -
wood, the ghost of Bracken Hollow exorcised. Now I am go-
ing away by myself to think."

He turned and strolled away, leaving the petrified little bar-
onet standing under the lime-trees, the picture of dazed and
helpless astonishment.

The first room the young Irishman passed was the fibrary ;
its windows stood wide open on the lawn ; it looked cool, and
dark, and deserted — a suitable place to think. He stepped in,
let the sea-green curtains fall again, flung himself into a chair,

402

THE SCAR ON THE TEMPLE.

his hands still deep in his pockets, his brow still knit in that
reflective frown.

■ The room had seemed very dark, coming in from the glare of
the sunset. As, after five minutes he lifted his eyes from the
carpet, he found that it was not dark. More, he found that he
was not alone — the library had another occupant — that occu-
pant Miss Herncastle — Miss Herncastle asleep.

Miss Herncastle asleep ! After the first instant's surprise,
he sat still and looked at her. It was easy enough to under-
stand how she came to be here. She had passed the windows,
as he had done — the dark seclusion of the library looked invit-
ing ; she, wearied and warm, had entered, and finding it en-
tirely deserted, had lain down, and all unconsciously fallen
asleep. She had removed her hat; one hand pillowed her
head ; her face, with the light full upon it, was turned toward
him. Pitilessly, searchingly, he sat and read that face. The
straight, finely shaped nose, the square-cut, resolute lips, the
curved, determined chin, the broad, rather low, intellectual-
looking forehead. It was perfectly colorless, that face, even in
sleep. And in her sleep she dreamed, for her brows were con-
tracted, her lips moved. She looked fairer in her slumber than
he had ever thought her awake.

Who was she ? A strange woman, surely — a wonderful
woman, if the dim, mysterious suspicions adrift in his mind were
right. Who was she ? Helen Herncastle of London, as she
said, or —

An inspiration came to him — an inspiration that lifted him
from his chair to his feet, that caught his breath for one breath-
less moment.

The scar on Katherine Dangerfield's temple !

He hardly knew what he suspected as yet, wild, improbable,
impossible things ; and yet he did suspect. Now, if ever, was
the time to end all suspicions, and test the truth. Miss Hern-
castle wore her black hair nearly down to her eyebrows ; what
easier than now to lift one of these shining waves, and look at
the left temple — it was the side of the face uppermost.

He advanced — he hesitated. Something in her helplessness
— in the sacredness of sleep, appealed to his strength and his
manhood, and held him back. It seemed a dastardly deed to
do while she slept what he dared not awake. And yet it was
his only chance.

" I may be judging her cruelly, shamefully," he thought; "if
.the scar is not there, I am. For her own sake I will look."

ROSE O'DONNELDS SECRET.

403

He drew near — he stooped over the sleeping form ; very
gently he lifted the black waves of hair that covered forehead
and temple. A full and noble brow he saw it was those bands
of dead dark hair hid. Lifted off, it altered her wonderfully,
made her ten times more like the portrait of the dead girl. He
glanced at the temple.

Good God ! yes ! there was the livid triangular scar Sir Peter
Dangerfield had described, just above the temple.

He let the hair drop — he absolutely reeled for a second, and
grasped a chair. He stood there thunderstruck, spell-bound,
looking down at her, helpless to do anything else.

Something in the magnetism of that strange, fascinated gaze
must have pierced even the mists of slumber. Without sound
of any kind to disturb her, the eyelids quivered, lifted, and Miss
Herncastle, wide awake in a second, looked up from the sofa
into Redmond O'Donnell's face.

CHAPTER XVIII.

ROSE o'DONNELL's SECRET.

OR a moment — for an hour, it seemed to him — not a
word was spoken. His dazed eyes never left her ; he
stood almost like a man stunned.

She rose up on her elbow, returning his gaze.
What did his face, its sudden pallor, showing white even under
the golden bronze of his skin, tell her ? Something in his eyes
cowed her strangely — fascinated her also.

She rose slowly up to a sitting posture and spoke, answering
that fixed look :

" What is it ? " she asked.
The sound of her voice broke the spell.
He drew a long breath and was himself again. In dealing
with this woman, who could be too subtle and too deceiving ?

"I have been experimenting in animal magnetism, Miss
Herncastle," he said coolly; "in other words, trying if my will,
my mesmeric power, could master you. I found you asleep — ■
sound asleep — after your walk, and I stood and looked at you
and willed you to awake. You obeyed. A liberty on my

404 ROSE O'DONNELVS SECRET.

part, perhaps, but the temptation was irresistible. You pos-
sess a very powerful will of your own, Miss Herncastle ; that
mine can command it, is no small triumph for me."

Something very like a flush passed over the perfect pallor of
Miss Herncastle's face. Her great gray eyes flashed upon him
with something more nearly akin to anger than anything he
had ever seen in them before. But thorough self-command
had long ago become second nature to her. Her sweet voice
had all its wonted soft music when she spoke :

" I regret Captain O'Donnell has no better use for his time
than watching me, and no better subject for his mesmeric ex-
periments. The Lady Cecil Clive, for instance — did he ever try
his mesmeric powers on her, I wonder ? "

" No," Captain O'Donnell returned, lying indolently back
in his chair, and looking the very embodiment of handsome
sang froid ; " I don't believe the Lady Cecil is a good subject ;
if she is, I leave her to her rightful owner; Sir Arthur Tre-
genna, when she can get him, which isn't often of late. And
speaking of watching you, Miss Herncastle, I must tell you I
have done that once before, liiierr, on an occasion when I
don't think you saw me. Not intentionally, as now, at least at
first ; afterward, I fear, I must plead guilty to the somewhat
dishonorable charge. But then again, the temptation was very
strong. And upon my word. Miss Herncastle, you are so very
mysterious, so very interesting a lady — if )^ou will pardon my
saying so — that watching you more than repays one for his
trouble."

" Mysterious ! interesting ! I don't know what you mean,
Captain O'Donnell!"

" Oh, yes, I think you do. You must be aware you are an
object of mystery and interest to all in this house : if for noth-
ing else, your startHng resemblance to that dead girl, Katherine
Dangerfield. And then there are the nocturnal walks to
Bracken Hollow, a haunted house, whose ghost at least you
don't seem to fear. And then there are your singular assigna-
tions, held in such very singular places. Who, for instance,
but mysterious Miss Herncastle would think of giving a gentle-
man an interview in a — churchyard, at nightfall ? "

She set her lips in the line he well knew, and looked at him,
hard, full, defiant.

" You understand me, I think. Was it the night before last ?
Yes, it was. I left Sir Peter Dangerfield' s bedside — you re-
member I relieved you, and let you and Sir Arthur go. We

ROSE BONN ELDS SECRET.

405

had been talking, Sir Peter and myself, of the ghost — very-
strange affair that, by the way — of Katherine Dangerfield, dead
and gone, also of the young man Otis, who fell in love with
her, and in whose house she died. With my mind full of
Katherine Dangerfield, her sad story and misfortunes, I went
to Katherine Dangerfield's grave. I thought I had the place
all to myself — certainly I never dreamed of its being made a
place for lovers' tryst — but I was mistaken. On my way out,
iDetween me and the gate two figures stood. Had 1 not re-
cognized them — one of them, rather — I should have passed on,
surprised a little at their charnel-house taste, but no more.
But I recognized them. If you will excuse me again. Miss
Herncastle — there is no mistaking that graceful walk of yours,
or that stately poise of the head and shoulders. I knew you ;
I also, after a moment, knew the man."

Her lips set themselves closer, in that thin, unpleasant line ;
her gray eyes stiil shone with that silent, threatening gUtter.

Sir Peter had described him, and I heard you speak his
name — Henry. Tall, sallow, thin, stooping, living in London,
and named Henry. There was no mistaking — the man was
Mr. Henry Otis, surgeon, late of Castleford — the man from
whose house Katherine Dangerfield was buried."

For the first time in his knowledge of her, her face changed.
It turned gray — a ghastly creeping gray, from brow to chin.
For an instant the fearless eyes flinched. For an instant — then
she arose herself again, and defied him.

''Well," she said, "what next?"

" I stood, as they say in novels, rooted to the spot, and yet
with a sensation of relief. For one moment — only one. Miss
Herncastle — I fancied your companion to be Sir Arthur
Tregenna. I might have known better. It is possible for a
man like that to swerve a little from the straight path of duty :
to stoop to deliberate dishonor — never."

She smiled — a smile not pleasant to see.

"Dishonor! an ugly word. For Sir Arthur Tregenna to
meet me in private thus — would be for him — dishonor ?"

" Most certainly, if he met you as a lover. And he is fast
becoming that, though I doubt if he knows it himself yet. For
Sir Arthur Tregenna, the plighted husband of Lady Cecil
Clive, to meet you, or any woman, in that way, would be dis-
honor."

"The plighted husband of Lady Cecil Clive," she echoed
softly still, with that gleaming smile. " I beg your pardon,

4o6

ROSE aDONNELLS SECRET.

Captain O'Donnell, he is not, he never has been for one
second that. And," her eyes flashed up now, in a sudden fire
of triumph, I have but to say it — and he never will ! "

He sat still looking at her, pale, and grave, and surprised.

" Never has been ? Do you mean to say. Miss Herncastle,
that Sir Arthur has not been for years the pledged husband of
Lord Ruysland's daughter ? "

" No ; not for years, not for days, not for hours. He is no
more her plighted husband than — thsin you are. Ah-! you feel
that ! " She laughed bitterly as she saw him wince. " You
have been, in the best years of her life, what he never was —
Lady Cecil's lover. Oh, I know more than you think. Captain
Redmond O'Donnell, of that little Irish episode six years old.
You saved her life at the risk of your own, and fell in love with
her afterwards. Very pretty, very romantic — a very old story
indeed, /know, but Sir Arthur does not. He is not in love
with Lady Cecil now ; do you think it will help love on to hear
that story of her youth — that story she will never tell him ? "

Redmond O'Donnell' s face had grown cold and set as stone.
To the suppressed passion in her face, in her eyes, in her tone,
he was deaf and blind. If he had been told Miss Herncastle
was rightful heiress to the crown of England, it would have as-
tonished him less — he would have believed it more easily — than
that, all unwillingly, she had learned to love him.

" You do Lady Cecil great injustice. Miss Herncastle," he
answered, with chill sternness, " in bringing her name into this
discussion at all. You wrong her more by your confounded
suspicions. Whether she is, or is not, the betrothed bride of
Sir Arthur Tregenna, this at least is certain — there is no page
in her past life that he and all the world are not free to read.
More, perhaps," looking her straight in the eyes, " than all can
say. I did her the service you speak of in Ireland, six years
ago ; is there anything in that to conceal ? And there the
' story,' as you phrase it, begins and ends. Your suspicions
are all unfounded, all unjust. Whatever my folly may have
been, in that past time of a most foolish youth, to her I have
been ever an acquaintance — a friend, perhaps — no more.
Gratitude she gave me — never more."

" Never more ! " She turned her scornful face away, and
looked out at the opal evening sky. ''Ah, well, humility is a
virtue but few possess ; let us cherish it when we find it in an
Irishman, of all men. Repeat that version of the story — be-
lieve it if you will. And she gave you — gratitude. What is it

ROSE O'DONNELDS SECRET.

407

she gives Sir Arthur ? What is it he gives her ? Love, do
you think? But she is an earl's daughter, and brouglit up in
the codes and the creeds of her order. She will marry him
and his ancient name, and his long rent-roll, if he asks her.
If f You talk of temptation, Captain O'Donnell — is there no
temptation, think you, here for me ? "

''To what?" His cold eyes, his cold tones, cut her like
knives. " To blind and fascinate him, to make his life misera-
ble, to put him from her, to make him a wanderer over the
earth, to spoil the happiness of two lives ? That, perhaps, it is
in your power to do — no more. If you think he will ever
marry you — a woman of whom he knows nothing — a woman
who, I am very certain, has her own good reasons for hiding
her past — you mistake him ^entirely. Sir Arthur is a very
proud man ; he comes of a very proud race. The baronets of
Tregenna may have married governesses before now — never
adventuresses."

She turned upon him with eyes of fire :

" Captain O'Donnell!"
I have said it. Miss Herncastle — you force it from me.
Do you think his infatuation will lead him into asking you to
be his wife, before inquiring into your past ? Will that past
bear inquiring into ? Sooner than see it, I, myself, would show
you to him as you are."

He was still lying back in the easy-chair, his tone quiet, but
his mouth, his eyes, relentless as doom. No grim old judge,
with the black cap on, pronouncing sentence of death on the
wretch in the dock, could have looked more sternly relentless
than he.

Her whole mood changed j the swift dark anger died out of
her eyes, she sank slowly back in her seat, her hands folded
before her, and looked at him.

" Captain O'Donnell," she said, and there was a strange,
weary, wistful pathos in her voice, " I asked you before — I ask
you again — what have I ever done to you that you should be
the one to hunt me down ? "

Something in her tone — something in her look — dreary, for-
lorn— touched him in spite of himself.

" And I answer again — nothing, Miss Herncastle. I have
no wish to turn amateur detective, believe me. But Sir
Arthur Tregenna is my friend — I cannot see him duped with-
out raising my voice to warn. You have brought discord and
wretchedness enough to this house already go and leave it,

4o8

ROSE O'DONNELVS SECRET.

satisfied with what you have done. All that I suspect I shall
keep to myself ; and I suspect a great deal. But go; leave
Sir Arthur to his duty — leave Sir Peter free from ghosts, and if
it is in my power to aid or help you in any way, command me.
But all this plotting, this working in the dark, must end, or
else — " He paused.

" Or else it is war between you and me — is that it, Captain
O'Donnell? You will devote your man's strength and your
man's intellect to hunting down and driving from Scarswood,
one poor woman who has never harmed yoii — who earns the
bread she eats, and who only takes the goods her gods provide.
Very well, sir, war let it be. Do your worst — I will do mine.
You have called me an adventuress — prove it, if you can. For
your other insinuations, I pass them over in silence. The day
may come when you will find I have been more sinned against
than sinning ; when even your spotless, peerless, perfect Lady
Cecil may descend from her pedestal, and be known as she is.
As she is. I repeat it, Captain O'Donnell. No need for you
to do battle in her behalf. By your own showing, she is noth-
ing to you. Do your worst, I repeat — spy upon me when and
how you choose, overhear all I say, suspect every word and
action, and repeat everything to Sir Arthur Tregenna. I tell
you it will be labor lost — he loves me. You hear, most gal-
lant of Irishmen, most courtly of gentlemen — loves me, and as
surely as ♦! will it, will one day make me his wife. Tell him
this also, if you choose — it will be in keeping with the rest.
And I thought you a soldier and a gentleman ! Let me pass,
Captain O'Donnell — I have no more to say to you."

Once again it flashed out, the passion he had awakened
within her, the jealousy he had aroused, and he never saw it.
He saw only an angry and utterly base woman at bay, and his
heart hardened toward her.

" In one moment," he said. " Believe me, I have Httle wish
to prolong this interview. I have given you your one chance,
and you have refused it. It shall be no fault of mine if Sir
Arthur Tregenna works his own life-long misery. I warn you
fairly — for his sake, for Lady Cecil's, for Sir Peter's. I shall
show you to them as you are. One moment more, Miss
Herncastle, if you please. In overhearing your remark, in
passing out of the churchyard, I also heard you say, ' Marie
De Lansac is here.' Now, what has Marie De Lansac — Rose
O'Donnell — to do with that man or you?"

Her hand was on the handle of the door. She stopped and

ROSE O'DONNELVS SECRET.

409

turned to him, a smile of malicious triumph on her face and in
her eyes.

"Ah ! " she said, "you heard that, did you? What is Marie
De Lansac to me? Captain O'Donnell, you accuse me of
the guilt of having secrets and mysteries in my life. I wonder
if I am alone in that ? I wonder if Sir Peter Dangerfield knew
every episode in my lady's career? I wonder if her papa and
her friends are free to read every page in Lady Cecil's life ? I
wonder if Redmond O'Donnell knows every incident connected
with his pretty, gentle sister's New Orleans existence ? What
woman tells father, lover, brother — all 2 Not one among all
the millions on earth. Captain O'Donnell, answer me this:
Did you ever hear from your sister's lips the name of Gaston
Dan tree ? "

" Gaston Dantree." The name had a familiar sound to him,
but at that moment he could not tell where he had heard it —
certainly not from his sister. The derisive eyes of the gov-
erness were upon him ; he could not understand the mocking
triumph of their glance.

" I have heard that name," he answered, " but not from
Rose."

" I thought not. Then I tell no tales. I keep my own
secretSj and let others keep theirs. Captain O'Donnell, the
dressing-bell rings. I wish you good-afternoon."

She was gone as she spoke. Five minutes after, while he
still sat there, mystified, annoyed, perplexed, an opposite
door opened, and Lady Cecil came in.

She was dressed to-day in some pale, sea-green, filmy stuff,
that floated about her like a cloud, a little foam of point-lace
here and there. A cluster of trailing grasses and half-crushed
pink buds clasped the soft corsage ; trailing sprays of green,
and a rose of palest blush, freshly gathered, adorned the light
brown hair. She looked like a lily, a naiad queen, like a sea
goddess, lacking the shells and sea-water. A more striking
contrast to the woman who had left him could hardly be con-
ceived. And she was not pledged to Sir Arthur Tregenna —
had never been. For one moment a thrill of exquisite delight
filled him at the thought — the next he could have laughed aloud
at his own folly.

" As though it could matter to me if to-morrow were her
wedding day," he thought. " Free or fettered, she is Lord Ruys-
land's daughter, and I am — a Captain of Chasseurs, with no
hope of being anything else to my dying day."
18

410

ROSE O'DONNELUS SECRET,

" You here, Captain O'Donnell ? " she said. " I did not know

it. I came in search of " she paused, and a faint color rose

in the Hly face. " They told me Miss Herncastle was here,"
she added, hastily ; " they must have been mistaken."

" No," the chasseur answered, coolly, " they were not. Miss
Herncastle has been here — with me. She only left a moment
before you came in."

The faint color deepened in her cheeks. She turned and
moved away again.

" I wished to see her. It does not matter — it will do after
dinner. You dine with us, I hope, Captain O'Donnell, or do
you run away at the sound of the dinner-bell ? You did it a
day or two ago, and Ginevra was very angry."

She spoke coldly, voice and manner alike, unconsciously
frigid. And without waiting for reply, she reopened the door
and walked away.

"Miss Herncastle there — with him !" she thought, a sudden,
swift, hot pang, that all Sir Arthurs defalcation had never
brought there, sharp at her heart ; " it is well the days of duel-
ing are exploded, or Sir Arthur might be tempted to call him
out."

She hated herself for the hot anger she felt. What was it to
her ? — what could it matter to her, with whom Captain O'Don-
nell chose to amuse himself? He was nothing to her, of
course — nothing. And she was less than nothing to him ; all
her beauty, ail her witcheries were powerless here, and he took
good care to let her see it. But that flush was still on her face,
that sharp pain still beneath the sea-green corsage, beneath
laces and roses, when she took her place at dinner.

Captain O'Donnell dined with the family, the governess did
not. He looked at his sister across a tall epergne of flowers.
She was talking to Squire Talbot — Squire Talbot, whom the
soft, sad eyes and wistful little face had been enthraUing of late,
and wondered what Miss Herncastle could have meant.

Gaston Dantree," he mused ; he recalled the name well
enough now — Katherine Dangerfield's dastardly lover, of
course. He had been a native of New Orleans ; had Rose
known him there ? Had her singular whim of visiting this
place anything to do with knowing him ? The mere suspicion
made him warm and uncomfortable.

"I'll ask her after dinner," he thought, "and she will tell
me. Can he have had anything to do with the change in her ?
— the gloom, the trouble of her life, that has preyed on her

ROSE O'DONNELDS SECRET.

411

mind, and broken her health ? And if so, how comes Miss
Herncastle to know it ? "

The ladies left the table. Redmond O'Donnell sat very si-
lent and thoughtful during the " wine and walnut " lapse, be-
fore the gentlemen joined him. Fate favored him upon this
occasion. Squire Talbot was turning Lady Dangerfield's
music, and his sister, quite alone, with a web of rose-pink net-
ting in her hands, sat in the recess of the bay-window. He
crossed over and joined her at once.

" Rose," he began, speaking abruptly, " how much longer
do you propose remaining in Sussex ? "

She looked at him, surprised at the sudden and unexpected
question, a little startled by the dark gravity of his face.

"Remain? I — ^" she faltered and stopped. " Are anxious
to go, Redmond ? If so, of course — "

"I have no wish to go until the object that brought you here
is an object accomplished. Rose. That you have some object
in insisting upon coming to this particular place I am quite
certain. More, perhaps I can partly guess what that object
is."

The rose-hued netting dropped in her lap, her great, dark
eyes dilated in sudden terror.
"Redmond !"

" You have not chosen to make me your confidant, Rose,
and I ask for no one's secrets, not even yours. Still you will
permit me to ask one question : Did you ever know Gaston
Dantree ? "

Suddenly, sharply, without warning, the question came upon
her. One faint, waiHng cry, then her hands flew up and cov-
ered her face. He was answered.

No one had heard that suppressed cry ; the curtains of the
recess hid them.

He sat and looked at her almost as pitilessly as he had looked
at Miss Herncastle two hours before. In his stern justice Red-
mond O'Donnell could be very hard — to himself as well as to
athers.

" I am answered," he said — "you have known Gaston Dan^
tree. He was a Louisianian — you knew him in New Orleans,
He disappeared here : at Castleford the last trace of him is to
be found. Was it to discover that trace you came and brought
me here ? Look up, Rose," he said, sternly, " and answer
me."

She feared as well as loved him. Habitually he was very

412

ROSE O'DONNELVS SECRET,

gentle with her, with all women, but let that stubborn sense of
right and wrong of his be roused and he became as iron. Her
hands dropped at his stern command, her poor, pale face, all
drawn and white with terror and trouble, looked piteously up
at its judge.

"Tell me the truth," he ordered, his lips set. "It is too
late for further prevarication. You knew this man ? "
" I knew him ! "

" In New Orleans, before he came here to court and desert,
like the craven-hearted dastard he was, Katherine Danger-
field ? "

"Yes."

His lips set themselves harder under his long mustache, his
blue eyes looked stern as steel.

" I said I asked for no one's secrets, not even yours. I do,
Rose. What was he to you ? "

She drew away from him once again, hiding her shrinking face
in her hands. A dry, tortured sob was her only answer. But
her judge and arraigner never relented.

" Was he a lover of yours ? "

She made a mute gesture of assent.

" A false one, of course ? "

" Heaven help me — yes.'*

A pause ; then —

"Rose, did M. De Lansac know?"
" He suspected. He never knew."
" Did he favor Dantree ? "
" No : he forbade him the house."

"And you — you, Rose O'Donnell, stooped to meet him in
secret — to make and keep assignations. You did this ? "

Again that sobbing sound, again that shrinking away of face
and figure. It was reply enough. If Lady Cecil Clive had
seen the face of the Redmond O'Donnell who sat in judgment
there upon the sister he loved, she would have been puzzled
indeed to find much similarity between it and the face of that
other Redmond O'Donnell among the Fermanagh hills. He
loved his only sister very dearly ; he had held her a " little lower
than the angels," and he found her to-day with a secret of deceit
and wrong-doing in her life — found her false and subtle, like
the rest of her sex. Was there no truth in woman — no honor
in man — left on the earth. He sat dead silent ; it was bitter to
him well nigh as the bitterness of death.

His silence frightened her, cut her, as no stinging reproach

ROSE O'DONNELDS SECRET,

could have done. Once again she lifted her face, all white and
piteous, to his.

"Redmond!" she cried, with a great gush, "why are you
so hard, so bitter ? Why do you judge me so harshly? I was
very young ; I did not know what distrust meant, and I — I —
loved him with all my heart. He said he loved me^ and I — oh,
Redmond ; it is nine years ago — I believed him. I was
warned ; others — older and wiser, read nim aright — told me it
was the prospective heiress of M. De Lansac's miUions he
loved — not Rose O'Donnell. But I loved and trusted, and
could not believe. I met him in spite of my grandfather's
commands, I received his letters — to my shame I own it. Then
our grandfather married — then Clarence was born, and I — •
learned the truth at last. It was all as they said — he was false,
base, mercenary to the core, was the heir, not I, and he left
me. Left me without a word, and came here to England.
Still, without a word, he returned me my letters and picture.
Then — the next thing I heard of him — I saw the mournful story
of Katherine Dangerfield in the English papers my grandfather
received. From that time I have heard nothing — nothing. I
should have told you, perhaps, but — it is not so easy a story to
tell — the story of one's own folly and humiliation."

The soft, sad voice ceased ; the pale, drooping face turned
far away from him in the silvery dusk. But in his face
there was little relenting, in his voice little softness, when he
spoke.

" The folly of the past I could forgive ; the folly of the pres-
ent, no. That you took a girl's fancy for a man's handsome
face, and were the dupe of his false words, might be overlooked
— is very natural in a girl of sixteen. That a woman of five-
and-twenty should still cling to the memory of so despicable a
wretch, still pursue him, and drag me, in my ignorance of your
secret, into that pursuit — that I cannot forgive."

He arose as he spoke, angry exceedingly, wounded, grieved
inexpressibly. She seized his hand in a sort of desperation,
and clung to it.

" Redmond, you — you don't understand. It is not that. I
doi-it care for him ; it is all I can do to pray to be kept
from hating his memory, whether he be alive or dead. It is
that — that I — ^" Her courage failed as she looked up into that
iron face. " Redmond ! " she cried ; "who has been talking to
you — who has told you this ? "

" Miss Herncastle," he answered. " Your secret, it would

414

ROSE QDONNELL S SECRET,

seem, has all along been no secret to her. She bade me ask
you two hours ago, what you knew of Gaston Dantree."

"Miss Herncastle ! " she could but just repeat the name in
her ungovernable surprise.

" Miss Herncastle," he repeated, still very coldly. " If I
were in your place, I think I should come to an understanding
with that lady. It was against m3'will I ever came to England.
If I had dreamed of your object, I certainly would never have
set foot in it. But I trusted Rose O'Donnell. That is all over
now — it is only one other lesson added to the rest. When your
inquiries concerning Mr. Gaston Dantree are at an end, let
me know, and we will depart for France."

Again he was turning away, hurt, angry, grieved beyond words
to say. Again she caught his hand and held him fast.

"Redmond! brother — friend! Oh, my God, why will 3^ou
judge me so hardly? I have deserved it, perhaps, but — you
break my heart. If you knew all I have suffered, jom might
pity — you might forgive."

He withdrew his hand, and turned sternly away.

" I have told you — the past I could forgive easily ; the pres-
ent I cannot."

And then he was gone. For a moment she sat looking after
him with eyes of passionate pleading. Then the pride of
blood, latent in her, arose. Fie was hard, he was cruel, he
was merciless. If he had ever loved, himself, or suffered, he
would not be so pitiless to her. Lanty was wrong — neither
Lady Cecil nor any other woman had ever touched his heart
of granite.

She sat wounded — humbled — silent. Then all at once the
recollection of Miss Herncastle flashed upon her. She had
told him — she knew all. All ! Rose O'Donnell turned white
and cold from head to foot. Did Miss Herncastle know all ^

She rose up hurriedly and looked down the lighted length of
the spacious drawing-rooms. No ; Miss Herncastle was no-
where to be seen. Should she seek her in her room ? She
stood for an instant irresolute. . Squire Talbot espied her and
turned to cross over. She saw him in time — flight was her
only escape. She stepped tlirough the open window and dis-
appeared.

Tlie tall trees of the lime-walk stood up black in the ivory
light of the moon. She turned toward it, then as suddenly
stopped. For from its somber shadows Sir Arthur Tregenna
and Miss Herncastle walked.

ROSE O'DONNELVS SECRET,

The meeting had been purely accidental, on his part, at
least. He had gone forth to smoke a cigar, and (was it by ac-
cident ?) Miss Herncastle had unexpectedly appeared upon the
scene. Her head was aching — she had come out for the air.
A black lace scarf, artistically draped like a Spanish mantilla,
covered her head and shoulders, one white, shapely hand held
it in its place. A crimson rose, half shattered, gleamed above
one pink ear. She had never looked better in her life — Sir
Arthur's eyes pretty plainly told her that. And having met
by chance the usual way," what more natural than that they
should take a turn down the lime-walk together.

" Do you return to the drawing-room ? " Rose heard him
say. " It is beyond all comparison pleasanter here, but — "

" But Sir Arthur Tregenna may be missed," Miss Herncas-
tle's sweet voice supplemented. " No, Sir Arthur, I shall go
to my room. Don't let me detain you an instant longer.
Thanks again, for the books and the music, and good-night."

Music and books ! He had been making her presents then
— what would Lady Cecil say to this ? She bade him good-
night with her brightest smile, waved a white hand in the pearly
light, and turned with the slow, stately, graceful motion pecu-
liar to her, and walked away.

He stood, a strange expression of yearning in eyes and
face, and watched the tall figure from sight. Then he turned
reluctantly — Rose could see it — stepped through the window
whence she herself had emerged, and was gone.

" Miss Herncastle ! "

Rose O'Donnell's clear voice, ringing along the silence,
came to the ear of the governess. She had reached the
King's Oak, and was standing, a smile on her hps, on the very
spot where Sir Peter had seen the ghost. She turned at the
sound of her name, the smile fading away, and confronted the
speaker.

"You called. Miss O'Donnell ?"

" I called, Miss Herncastle. I wish to speak a word to
you. I will not detain you an instant," as the governess
shivered ever so little in the soft night air. " Two hours ago
you bade my brother ask me what I knew of Gaston Dan tree.
Miss Herncastle, in my turn I ask, what do you know ? "

She looked more like her brother, as she spoke, than the
governess had ever seen her. She came of a bold and brave
race, and some of the fire of that race shone in her eyes now.
Miss Herncastle returned her gaze steadily.

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KNIGHT AND PAGE.

"You really wish^me to answer that question ? "

" Certainly, or else I had not asked it. Did you know Gas-
ton Dantree in New Orleans ? "

" I never saw Gaston Dantree in New Orleans in my
life."

" In England then ? "

Miss Herncastle stood looking at her, making no reply.

"You heard me?" Rose O'Donnell repeated; "what do
you know of Gaston Dantree and — and me ? "

Miss Herncastle' s lips opened to answer with that excellent
brevity of speech that characterized her.

" Everything."

" Miss Herncastle !"

" It is your own fault, and your brother's, Miss O'Donnell,
since by that name you prefer to be known."

" That name ! " she whispered the two words, came a step
nearer, her eyes dilating, her face ashen white.

" Miss Herncastle," she cried, " what do you mean ? What
do you know ? "

" This ! " the voice of the governess rose, her mouth grew
set and stern — " this — that if Gaston Dantree be alive, you
are Gaston Dantree' s wife ! "

CHAPTER XIX.

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

IT was a noticeable fact — noticed chiefly by Sir Arthur
Tregenna and Squire Talbot — that neither Miss Hern-
castle nor Mis? O'Donnell returned to the drawing-
room. For Captain O'Donnell, he did not even
perceive his sister's absence. He sat a little apart from the
others, turning over a book of photographed celebrities, and
never seeing one of them. One question was revolving itself
over and over again in his brain until he was dizzy. Had
Katherine Dangerfiield died six years ago, or had she not ? If
she had not, who then lay in that quiet grave in the Methodist
churchyard? If she had, who then, in the name of all that
was wonderful, was Helen Herncastle ? He thought, till his
brain was dazed.

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

Lady Cecil Clive, with Sir Arthur seated near her, glanced
furtively across the length of the drawing-room at Redmond
O'Donnell's dark, tired face and somber, blue eyes, and
wondered, with a sort of awe, of what he could be thinking so
intently and sternly.

" There is but one way," he said to himself, moodily ; " a
way I hate to take, and yet — for every one's sake — for Rose's
— for Tregenna's — for Sir Peter's — it should be taken. If
Katherine Dangerfield was buried six years ago, Katherine
Dangerfield cannot be here. My mind is made up." He rose
with the air of one who shakes off a burden. "I'll wonder no
longer. No possible harm can come of it, and it will put an
end to this juggling ghost-seeing — this mystification. /'// do it.
And I'll begin the first thing to-morrow morning."

He took his leave and went home. It was a brilliant sum-
mer night, and, as he neared the fields, he stopped and looked
suspiciously around. But if he looked for Miss Herncastle, no
Miss Herncastle was to be seen. It was long past midnight
when he reached the Silver Rose, but even then he did not go
to bed. He lit a cigar, and sat down by the open window to
smoke and think. The town was very quiet, the lights all out
— the stars and Captain O'Donnell had the peace and beauty
of the sweet July night all to themselves. He sat there, darkly
thoughtful, for over an hour. When he threw himself on his bed
he had thought it all out ; his whole plan of action lay clear
before him.

At ten o'clock next morning he began. He took his way
through the town, to that pleasant cottage adjoining the
churchyard wherein Katherine Dangerfield six years ago had
died.

" I have warned her," he thought, " and she will not be
warned. She must take the consequences now."

A family, named Wilson, resided in the cottage at present
— that much he had ascertained at his inn. They had taken
possession the very week in which Mr. Otis had left, and
had been there ever since. Mrs. Wilson, a rosy little matron,
answered the door in person, and ushered her military visitor at
once into the parlor. Captain O'Donnell's business with Mrs.
Wilson was very simple. He understood that the servant
woman who had lived in the family of Mr. Otis, six years ago,
was now in the service of Mrs. Wilson. His business was with
that servant — could he see her a moment or two in private ?

The little mistress of the cottage opened two bright, brown
18*

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KNIGHT AND PAGE,

eyes in surprise, but answered readily in the affirmative. He
meant Dorcas, of course — Dorcas had come to her with the
house, and Dorcas was in the kitchen at present, and would
wait upon the gentleman at once.

Mrs. Wilson went and Dorcas came — a stout, elderly woman,
with an intelligent face.

" I wish to obtain a few particulars concerning the sudden
death of a young lady in this house six years ago," the chasseur
began, plunging into his subject at once. " You remember her,
of course ? Her name was Katherine Dangerfield."

Yes, Dorcas remembered perfectly well, remembered as
though it were yesterday. She had come to the cottage late
in the evening — a cold, dark winter evening it was — to see
the sick young man, Mr. Dantree. Mr. Otis himself had let
her in. The next thing she heard, half an hour later, was Mrs.
Otis scream. Had rushed in. Miss Dangerfield was lying
then on the sofa, white and still, and Dr. Graves said she was
dead.

" You saw her dead ? "

Yes, poor dear, and a beautiful corpse she made, calm, and
white, and peaceful, and looking more as though she were
asleep than dead."

How long was she kept here before she was buried ?" the
soldier asked.

" Only two days, sir, and she looked lovely to the last. I
remember her well, lying in her coffin, with flowers all round
her like marble or waxwork, and misses a-crying over her and
master with a face like white stone. I saw it all, sir, saw the
coffin-Ud screwed down, saw her carried out, and a fine,
respectable funeral she had — all the gentry of the neighbor-
hood, poor dear young lady."

" Humph ! " Captain O'Donnell said, knitting his brows.
Katherine Dangerfield had died then, and Miss Herncastle had
nothing whatever to do with her, in spite of all the astounding
coincidences. One question more, my good woman ; how
long after the funeral was it that Mr. Otis left this place for
London?"

" About a month, sir — yes, just a month. I think they would
have gone sooner, but for the unexpected arrival of his cousin,
the sick young lady from Essex."

Captain O'Donnell had risen to go. At these last words he
suddenly sat down again.

" The sick young lady from Essex. Ah ! I think this may be

KNIGHT AND PAGE,

419

what I want to hear. When did you say the sick young lady
came ? "

On the very identical night of the funeral, sir, and most unex-
pected. I had gone to bed, and misses, she came to my room,
next morning before I was up, all white and in a tremble, and
says to me, ' Dorcas, get up at once and heat water for a bath ; '
and then she sat down in a chair, looking fit to drop. I asked
her if any one was sick, and she said yes, a young lady who had
come in the night, a niece of hers from Essex, and who was
going to stop with them a few days. She begged me to keep it
a secret. The young lady was weak-like in her intellect, and
they would be obliged to confine her to her room. I promised
not to speak of it, for misses she looked trembling and frightened
to death almost. And so she was all the time the strange
young lady was in the house."
" How long was that ? "

"Not quite a fortnight, sir ; and a sight of bother she made
— all her meals took up to her room, and misses a-trotting up
and down all day long, a-waiting upon her herself."

" What was she like — this young lady ? "

Dorcas shook her head.

"That I couldn't tell, sir. I never laid eyes on her, least-
wise except once. Master and misses they kept waiting on her,
all day long, and misses she slept with her in the same room at
night."

" But you saw her once ? "

"Yes, sir, but it was by an accident, and at night. I didn't
see her face. She never stirred out all daylong, and at night I
used to hear sounds of footsteps, and doors softly opening and
shutting. One night I watched, I heard the house door shut
softly, and directly after I espies master walking in the back
garden with a lady on his arm. It was a cloudy sort of a night,
and I couldn't see her very plainly — I couldn't see her face at
all. She was tallj and dressed in dark clothes, and — but this
was only a notion of mine — if Miss Dangerfield hadn't been
dead and buried, I should have said the height and the figure
were like hers."

The blood rose dark and red over the sun-browned face of
the African soldier. For an instant his breath seemed fairly
taken away.

"Well?" he said in a tense sort of whisper.

Dorcas looked at him in surprise.

"Well, sir," she said, "the very next night after that the

420

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sick young lady ran away. I don't know whether they had
been keeping her against her will or not, but in the dead of
night she ran away. When misses awoke next morning
she found the bed empty, the door unlocked, and Miss Otis
(they called her Miss Otis) gone. She screamed out hke one
crazy, and ran down in her night-clothes to master's room. I
saw him as he came out, and except when he looked at Miss
Dangerfield dead in her coffin, I never saw him wear such a face ;
I declare it frightened me. He searched the house and the
garden, but she was nowhere to be found. Then he set off for
the station, and discovered (I heard him tell his mother so) that
a tall young lady, dressed in black and closely veiled, had gone
up to London by the very first train. That same day, he got a
telegraph dispatch from London, and he went up at once. He
came back in three days, looking dreadfully gloomy and out of
spirits. His mother met him in the hall and said, * Well,
Henry, is she safe ? ' in a flurried sort of a way, and he pushed
her before him into the parlor, and they had a long talk. Miss
Otis never came back, and two weeks after master and mistress
went up to town themselves for good. That's all, sir."

It was quite enough. Captain O'Donnell rose again ; his
grave face had resumed its usual habitual calm ; he had heard
all he wanted — more than he had expected. He pressed a half
sovereign into Dorcas' willing palm, bade Mrs. Wilson good-
morning, and departed.

His face was set in a look of fixed, steady determination as
he quitted the cottage and returned to Castleford. He had
taken the first step on the road to discovery — come what might,
he would go on to the end now.

The middle of the afternoon brought Lanty Lafferty to Scars-
wood Park with a note from the captain to Miss Rose. It was
only a brief word or two — saying he had gone up to London by
the mid-day train and would probably not return for a couple of
days.

Miss O'Donnell was in her room, suffering from a severe at-
tack of nervous headache, when this was brought her. She
looked at the bold, free characters — then pressed her face down
among the pillows with a sort of groan.

"And I intended to have told him all to-day," she said, "as
I should have told him long ago if I had not been a coward.
To think — to think that Miss Herncastle should have known
from the first. Ah ! how shall I ever dare tell Redmond the
pitiful story of my folly and disobedience."

KNIGHT AND PAGE,

421

That day — Wednesday — passed very quietly; it was the
treacherous lull that precedes all storms. Miss Herncastle kept
her room; she was putting still a few finishing touches to that
lovely page dress. Late on Wednesday evening came from
town a large box addressed to Major Frankland ; my lady and
the governess alone knew that it contained Count Lara's cos-
tume. My lady was on her best behavior to her husband — go
to the masquerade she was resolved, and brave all consequences.
Sir Peter might never find it out, and if he did — well, if he did
it would blow over, as other storms had blown over, and noth-
ing would come of it.

There were others who judged differently. Some inkling
of what was brewing, something of what Sir Peter had said,
reached the ears of Lord Ruysland, and Lord Ruysland had
ventured in the most delicate manner to expostulate with his
willful niece. The game was not worth the candle — the mas-
querade was not worth the price she might pay for it. Better
humor Sir Peter and his old-fashioned prejudices and throw
over Mrs. Everleigh.

Ginevra listened, her eyes compressing — a gleam of invinci-
ble obstinacy kindling in her eyes. She was one of those people
whom opposition only doubly determined to have their way.

" That will do. Uncle Raoul. Your advice may be good,
but I should think your three-score years' experience of this life
had taught you nobody ever yet relished good advice. I'll go
to the Everleigh party — I'll wear the page dress and snap my
fingers at Sir Peter Dangerfield. His threats indeed ! Poor
little manikin ! it's rather late in the day for him to play the role
of Bluebeard. I shall go."

The earl shrugged his shoulders and gave it up. He never
argued with a woman.

" Certainly you'll go, my dear — I knew perfectly well how
useless remonstrance would be, but Cecil would have it. Go,
by all means. Whatever happens I shall have done my duty.
Let us hope Sir Peter may never hear it."

" Your duty ! The Earl of Ruysland's duty ! " his niece
laughed contemptuously. " I wonder if all that paternal solici-
tude is for me or himself? If Sir Peter turns me out of Scars-
wood, you must follow, Uncle Raoul ! The dress is made, and
my promise given. I shall go to the masquerade."

Thursday came — that delusive quiet still reigned at Scars-
wood. When the afternoon train from London rushed into the
Castleford station there appeared among the passengers Cap-

422

KNIGHT AND PAGE,

tain O'Donnell and Major Frankland ; and placid and patrician,
pacing the platform, the Earl of Ruysland.

"Ah, O'Donnell — back again. You don't know, I suppose,
that your sister is quite indisposed. I regret to say such is the
case — ^nervous attack or something vague of the sort. How
do, PVankland ? On your way to Scarswood ? Permit me to
accompany you there."

But the major drew back in some trifling embarrassment.
He wasn't going to Scarswood this afternoon ; to-morrow — ah
— he intended to put in an appearance. Would his lordship be
kind enough not to mention having seen him at all ?

The earl's serene blue eyes were tranquilly fixed on the
major's face.

"I understand," he answered, "you are down on the quiet
• — Sir Peter is to hear nothing of it until after the ball ? Is that
yourHttle game, dear boy? You see I know all about it, and
my age and my relationship to Lady Dangerfield give me the
right to interfere. Now, my dear fellow, that masquerade affair
must be given up."

He took the younger man's arm, speaking quite pleasantly,
and led him away.

" Do you know why I took the trouble to drive four miles
under a blazing July sun, over a dusty July road, to wait five
minutes in a stuffy station for the 2:30 express, dear boy ? To
meet and intercept you — to ask you as a personal favor to
myself, as an act of friendship to Ginevra, not to go to this
fancy ball ? "

"My lord," interrupted Major Frankland, uneasily, "am I
to understand Lady Dangerfield has commissioned you to — "

" Lady Dangerfield has commissioned me to do nothing —
has ordered me, indeed, to stand aside and mind my own busi-
ness. All the same, I am Lady Dangerfield' s nearest male rel-
ative, and, as such, bound to warn her of her danger. Failing
to impress her, I come to you. As a gentleman and a man of
honor — as an old friend of poor Ginevra' s, you will perceive at
once the force of what I say."

" Indeed. You will pardon my stupidity if I fail to perceive
it as yet."

" It lies in a nutshell. Sir Peter Dangerfield does you the
honor of being infernally jealous. That is an old state of things
— this masquerade at that woman's house has brought matters
to a climax. He has told Lady Dangerfield that if she goes
she shall not return, and, my dear Frankland, he means it.

KNIGHT AND PAGE, 423

They are both as obstinate as the very devil — she to go, he to
separate from her if she does. Now this is a very serious state
of things. She is willfully bHnd to her danger, but you will not
be. You are the only one who can prevent this disastrous ter-
mination— on you we all depend. There is but one thing for
you to do — don't go. Stay ! — I know what you would say.
You have promised — your dress is in the house — Lady Danger-
field will be offended, et cetera. Granted — but is it not better
to break a promise that involves so nmch? Is it not better to
temporarily offend Ginevra than ruin her for life ? Frankland,
as a man of the world, you cannot fail to perceive that but one
course is open to you — to withdraw. Trust me to make your
peace. In three weeks she will see from what you have saved
her, and thank you."

The gallant major gnawed his military mustache in gloomy
perplexity.

" Confound the little bloke ! " he burst out. "It isn't that
I particularly care to go to this masquerade junketing, but I
know Gin — Lady Dangerfield has set her heart on it, and will
be proportionately disappointed. Are you quite sure, my lord,
that he means to carry out his absurd threat? that he — oh,
hang it all ! he couldn't separate from her for such a trifle as
that."

Could he not ? " the earl answered quietly. " T find you
don't altogether appreciate the force of such characters as
Peter Dangerfield's. The obstinacy of a mule is gentle, yield-
ing, compared to it. And, by Jove, Frankland, in this case he
will have grounds to go upon. Lady Dangerfield, against his
express command, goes to a masquerade at the house of a
woman of doubtful reputation, in male attire, and in the com-
pany of a man who has been her lover, and of whom he is
monstrously jealous. He warns her of the consequences, and
in her mad recklessness she defies them all. Egad ! if he does
turn her out to-morrow morning, I for one won't blame him.
You and Ginevra will act in every way, of course, as your su-
perior wisdom may suggest. I have no more to say, only this
— if you and she really persist in going, I and my daughter
shall pack our belongings and depart by the earliest train to-
morrow. I have spoken."

He turned to go. Still lost in dismal perplexity, still angrily
pulling his ginger mustaches, still gloomy of tone, the badgered
major spoke.

" I say — my lord — hold on, will you ? What the deuce is a

424

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

fellow to do ? I can't go off to London again, if that is what
you n\ean — oh, hang it no ! without a word of explanation or
excuse, or that sort of thing. I can't, you know — the thing is
impossible."

"Write a note — invent any excuse you please. Your near-
est relative, from whom you have expectations, is in articulo
mortis^ and demands your presence to sooth his last hours.
Anything will do — say what you please. She'll be in a furious
passion at the disappointment, but you save her, and virtue is
its own reward, and all that. I promise to bring her to see
matters in their true light in a week."

" My lord," the major cried resolutely, " I must see her.
I'll tell her myself — I'm blessed if I know what. But I won't
go to the masquerade — I promise you thatV

He stalked gloomily away as he spoke, leaped into a fly, and
was whirled off in a cloud of dust. The earl looked after him
with a slight smile, in which his habitual sneer lurked.

" Poor children— how vexed they are at losing their toy.
He'll keep his word, however — he's not half a bad fellow,
Frankland — a tailor's block, with an inch and a quarter of brain.
Nothing is farther from my intentions than to permit a rupt-
ure between Ginevra and her imbecile husband, if I can pre-
vent it. At least until Cecil's prospects are defined more
clearly ; and that day of reckoning must come very soon. As
I said, Sir Arthur has run the length of his tether — it is high
time to pull him short up."

He turned to look for Captain O'Donnell, but Captain
O'Donnell had long since disappeared. He had lingered an
instant to speak a hurried word to a disreputable-looking fellow
who had emerged from a third-class carriage — a cockney
evidently of the lowest type — a singular-looking acquaintance
for Redmond O'Donnell, the earl would have thought had he
seen him. But he had not seen, and after listening to a brief
direction given by the Algerian officer the fellow had touched
his battered hat and slouched on his way.

And in a very perturbed state of mind indeed Major Frank-
land made his way to Scarswood Park. What he was to say to
my lady, what excuse to offer, how to get out of his promise, he
had not the remotest idea. What she would say to him he
knew only too well. As the railway fly flew aloiTg he could
see in prospective the sharp black eyes flashing — hear the
shrill voice reproaching — the storm of rage and disappointment
with which she would sweep from his presence and order him

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

never to approach her again. And their platonic friendship
had been so agreeable and Scarswood had been such a pleasant
country refuge after the London season. Confound the little
jealous baronet, and trebly confound him. What asses some
husbands made of themselves for nothing at all.

What should he say ? He reached the park with that mo-
mentous question still unanswered and unanswerable. What
should he say ? He bade the fly wait — he wanted to be driven
back presently to catch the next up-train. What should he say ?
With his " inch-and-a-quarter of brain " in a whirl from the un-
wonted exertion of thinking, he walked up the avenue, and under
the King's Oak came face to face with Miss Herncastle.

She was reading — she was alone. Major Frankland took
off his crush hat, all his flurry and guilt written legibly on his
usually placid face.

" Aw — Miss Herncastle — how do ? Is— aw — is my lady at
home ? "

" My lady is not at home. Major Frankland ; and if she had
been " — Miss Herncastle's large, grave eyes looked at him
meaningly — '•''you are the last person she would have expected
to see at Scarswood this afternoon."

" Then you know — "

" I know all about the note, warning you not to appear here
until after the masquerade. My lady is absent to-day, with
Lady Cecil and Miss O'Donnell, at an archery party at More-
cambe, and Sir Peter is in close attendance. Do you think it
wise to run counter to my lady's commands in this fashion ? "

" Miss Herncastle, I — I'm not going. I've promised the earl.
He's told me all about the little baronet's flare up, and threats,
and all that nonsense, if Lady Dangerfield accompanies me to
the masquerade. The party will be a very pleasant party, no
doubt, as parties go ; but it isn't worth all that, and I'm not the
sort of man to make family trouble. The earl wanted me to
write an excuse, but I ain't clever at that sort of thing. Gin —
Lady Dangerfield — will be deuced angry, no doubt, and you'll
deliver it, and take my part as well as you can. Miss Hern-
castle— hey ? "

With vast hesitation, many pauses, numberless "aw's" and
'*er's," much pulling of the auburn mustache, the major got
out this speech. The lurking smile of amusement to Miss
Herncastle's eyes he did not see.

" Major Frankland's sentiments do him honor. Sir Peter is
certainly rampant on this point, and unpleasantly in earnest.

426

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

Here is my book, Major Frankland ; it will serve as a desk to
write your note."

" And — aw — you think my lady will make no end of a row,
don't you, Miss Herncastle?" the major asked, wistfully.

" I think she will be annoyed, beyond doubt. You see the
dress is very pretty ; she has quite set her heart upon going,
and opposition has only made her more determined. Here is
a pencil, if you have none ; and the blank page will do for your
note."

With an inward groan of apprehension, the major scrawled
two or three lines of incoherent excuse — he hardly knew what.
He did not dare read it ; he folded it up in the correct cockade
fashion, and handed it to the governess. The man who hesitates
is lost ; he turned to go the instant he finished.

You'll give Lady Dangerfield this, Miss Herncastle, and be
good enough to explain that it is solely for her sake, and against
my will that I don't go. Aw — thanks very much, and good
day."

He bowed in his agitation with something less than his ordi-
nary exquisite grace — walked back to the fly — jumped into his
seat, and was driven off. Miss Herncastle, standing perfectly
still, under the King's Oak, watched him out of sight, then she
slowly and deliberately tore the note into minutest morsels and
scattered them in a litde white shower over the grass.

*'My lady shall not be disappointed of the ball upon which
her heart is set, even for your scruples, major. No jealous
husband shall prevent my masterpiece of millinery — the page's
costume — from adorning Mrs. Everleigh's ball. And whether
you are in London or Castleford, Major Frankland, Count Lara
shall dance with his Kaled to-night."

My lady and her party returned from Morecambe in time for
dinner. Sir Arthur was in attendance upon Lady Cecil, look-
ing bored and distrait. Squire Talbot was hovering in the wake
of Rose O'Donnell, whose small dark face had grown wanner
and thinner than ever in the last two days, and who looked
much fitter for a sick bed than an archery party. Miss Hern-
castle smiled again as she looked at her and the baronet — the
one shrinking, the other brightening under her glance. In dif-
ferent ways the spell of her power was upon both.

It had been agreed that the package in Major Frankland's
room should be sent to the Silver Rose after nightfall by one of
the servants. " Don't disturb yourself about it, my lady," Miss
Herncastle had said j /'// attend to all that." She did attend

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

427

to it by quietly concealing the box in her own room a little be-
fore the archery party returned.

Sir Peter came to dinner ; quietly but steadily he had kept
his wife under surveillance ever since his discovery of the mas-
I querade. He had shut up his study, his beetles and bugs — he
had forgotten the ghost — the pilgrimage to the cemetery — his
interest in Miss Herncastle — in this new interest. He had long
groaned in spirit under his wife's tyranny and flirtations. Now
or never was the time to bring them all to an end. He would
watch her as a cat a mouse, and if in spite of all she went to
the masquerade in page attire, why go she should, and then —

My lady understood it all, read him like a book, and her re-
bellious feminine blood rose instantly in revolt. Had death
been the penalty she would almost have braved it now. Go
she would, but she would be subtle as a serpent and throw him
off the track.

In the middle of the afternoon she was seized with a head-
ache, a horrible headache, a vertigo — no doubt caused by too
long standing in the hot sun ; she must go home at once. She
came home with the whole archery party in her wake. She
was too ill to dress for dinner, but she made a heroic effort and
went down. At table she could not eat a mouthful — after din-
ner in the drawing-room she was absolutely unable to hold her
suffering head up. She must retire — a darkened room — per-
fect quiet — a long night's sleep — unlimited eau de cologne and
sal volatile, these things alone could restore her. If they did
not, then the family medical attendant must be summoned in
hot haste from Castleford to-morrow. Her husband looked at
her as she arose amid a low murmur of sympathy, her hand to
her forehead — not a trace of rouge on the sallow pallor of her
face — with the grin of a small demon.

" Let us hope your headache will not prove so serious as
all that, my lady," he remarked. "Your vertigo (how odd you
never had a vertigo before) I am quite sure will be entirely
gone to-morrow."

"He means mischief," Miss Herncastle thought, watching
him from her cover. " He sees through her transparent ruse,
and will follow her to the ball. The Fates are working for me
as well as I could work myself"

She glided unobserved from the room after my lady, and
joined her in the violet boudoir. A substantial repast was
spread here. Lady Dangerfield's appetite was unexception-
able, and she had had no dinner. In an instant every trace of

428

KNIGHT AND PAGE,

headache and vertigo disappeared. The door was locked, the
heavy curtain of violet cloth dropped over it, Lady Danger-
field sat down to refresh her inner ladyship, and Miss Hern-
castle produced the exquisite page dress. The idea of doubt-
ing Major Frankland's appearing was too preposterous an idea
ever to occur to her.

"And you think — you are sure, Miss Herncastle — Sir Peter
has not the faintest suspicion ? " my lady asked, as she rose
from the table, and placed herself in the skillful hands of her
governess, to be dressed. Delphine had been dismissed as not
sufficiently trustworthy. " You are perfectly sure he suspects
nothing ? "

" I am perfectly sure of nothing in this lower world, except
that I am in it," Miss Herncastle answered coolly ; " but the
probabiUties are he does not. Major Frankland is in London
— you are ill in bed of headache — how then can either of you
be at the ball? And it doesn't seem likely he will accept
Mrs. Everleigh's invitation himself and go." Lady Dangerfield
gave a faint shriek.

" Good Heaven, Miss Herncastle ! what an idea ! — Sir Peter
go. Of course, he'll not go — the very idea is absurd. I don't
believe he ever attended a ball in his life, and he detests Mrs.
Everleigh much too cordially even to cross her threshold. I
wish you wouldn't suggest such preposterous things — I was
nervous enough before, you have made me a hundred times
worse. Has the box gone yet ? "

" The box is safely disposed of, my lady. Llave no fears —
Count Lara will be there."

Her nimble fingers flew over her«work. Lady Dangerfield's ,
short black hair was artistically curled over her temples and
shoulders, and the little plumed cap set sideways thereon.
The little high-heeled shoes, with their glittering paste buckles,
were on ; doublet, hose, cloak, rapier, scented gloves, all ; the
exquisite tint of rouge given to the cheeks, the eyes darkened,
all the mystic ceremonies of the toilet gone through ; and my
lady, robed and radiant, looked in the full-length mirror, and
saw a charming vision — all velvet, gold lace, flashing buttons,
carmine, silk, and waving plumes. Her sallow cheeks actually
flushed under their rouge vegetal.

" It is exquisite — it is lovely ! " she murmured. " I have
not looked half so well in anything for years — it brings my
waning youth back — I fancy it will surprise even Jasper. Now,
Miss Herncastle, my cloak, and go down quietly and see if the

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

429

fly yon engaged at Castleford is in waiting. Find out if Sir
Peter is in his study, too. Somehow I feel horribly nervous
to-night."

"1 will ascertain," Miss Herncastle's soft voice answered,
as she moved noiselessly from the room.

'Horribly nervous. Yes, my lady was that. Was it some
dim presentiment that with her own hand she was flinging
away to-night all that made the happiness of her shallow life ?
If Sir Peter should come to the masquerade — if he should find
it out.

You shall not live under my roof and dishonor it — that I
swear ! " were these not the words he had used? And he had
been so quiet — he had looked so grimly in earnest. What if
he found it out ? What if he kept his v/ord ? She shivered a
little under her cloak. Was it too late yet ? Would it not be
wisest to stop at the eleventh hour, forego the party, take off
the lovely page's dress and stop at —

Miss Herncastle, silent and swift, was back at her side.

" The fly is in waiting. Sir Peter is in his study — the rest
still are in the drawing-room — there is not a soul to be seen.
Now is your time, my lady, and make haste."

But still for a second she stood irresolute. In that moment
one word from Miss Herncastle would have turned the scale
either way. That word was spoken.

" Take one last look, my lady — is it not exquisite ? Mrs.
Everleigh will be ready to expire with envy. You look abso-
lutely dazzling in your Kaled dress — you never in your life
wore anything half so becoming — Major Frankland will tell
you the same. Now, then, my lady, quick."

The scale was turned — the last hesitation over. From that
moment until the grand denouement came, Lady Dangerfield
never paused to think.

They descended one of the back stairways — they met no
one. Miss Herncastle softly opened a turret door, and they
glided through. They made their way in the dim starlight
along the shrubbery, skirting a belt of dark woodland, and
gained the highroad. In the shadow of a clump of beeches
the hired fly waited. A moment and my lady was in ; another
and she was off as fast as a stout cob could carry her "on the
road to ruin."

In Mrs. Everleigh's stuccoed mansion, in Mrs. Everleigh's
gorgeous reception rooms, half a hundred lamps shone dazzlingly
o'er fair women and brave men. It was the usual scene — nuns

430 KNIGHT AND PAGE.

and demons. " Friars of orders gray " in juxtaposition with
brigands, hooded Capuchins flirting with ballet dancers, Levan-
tine pirates waltzing with Queen Elizabeth ; negroes and flower-
girls, Indian chiefs and Spanish donnas — all the grand person-
ages of history and opera, a motley and bewildering spectacle
— all masked. And over all clashed out the music. The air
was heavy with perfume, the eye grew blind with light, and
dazzle, and color.

Among all the brilliant-robed throng there was not one who
excited more attention than the little glittering page, Kaled.
But where was Lara? An hour had passed since the page's
arrival, but the page's master was absent still. And under the
silken mask an angry flush was rising at length over the page's
face.

What cozild'k.QQ'p Major Frankland ? She flung herself into
a seat as she asked the question — alone for a brief moment —
the first since the ball began. " Did he not come down after
all ? How dare he disappoint me so ? And how absurd I
must look — the page without the knight. I'll never — "

She stopped — some one had approached behind her unseen
— a voice spoke low in her ear.

" The Chief of Lara has returned again. Look up — my
faithful Kaled — my prince and paragon of pages — and welcome
your knight and master ! "

" The Chief of Lara," in the picturesque dress of a Spanish
cavalier, stood behind her, his mask over his face. But for one
instant she had not recognized Jasper Frankland' s well-known
tones. " No — don't reproach me, Ginevra, as I see you are
going to do, and as I know I deserve. I couldn't help it —
only just got down — serious illness of my grandfather — ought
to be by his bedside at this instant. Ah — a redowa — my
favorite dance. Come, Kaled, let me look at you. A gem of
a dress indeed — it is exquisite. Come."

He whirled her away, but for the first time in her experience
the major's step and hers did not agree. For the first moment
or two they absolutely could not dance together — then Count
Lara seemed to catch it, and they whirled away to the admira-
tion of all beholders.

"What is the matter with you to-night, Jasper?" Lady
Dangerfield asked, half pettishly. " Your voice sounds strange,
you don't dance as you used — and — and something about you,
I don't know what, looks unfamiliar. Take off your mask, sir,
and let me see you."

KNIGHT AND PAGE.

" Not likely, A page must never presume to command his
master. Rest assured that I am I, and at supper we will un-
mask, and become the cynosure of all eyes. Ginevra, your dress
is absolutely perfect — there is nothing to equal it here to-night."

A passing domino caught the half-whispered words, and
paused to watch them. From that moment, wherever the
knight and page-went the black domino was sure to follow.

It was an indescribably brilliant party, there was hardly a
moment's cessation in the whirl of dancing — the hours flew by
like minutes — and Lara and his page never parted company
for an instant, whether they waltzed or walked, whether they
sought the cool stillness of half-lit balconies and boudoirs, or
plunged into the whirl of maskers. And still all unnoticed —
stealthily and sure as Fate itself, the black domino followed,
and watched, and bided his time.

They wandered into a conservatory at last, filled with the
moonlight of shaded lamps, where the music came faint and
far-off, and tall tropic plants reared their rich heads far above.

" How hot it is — how noisy they are," Kaled murmured,
sinking into a moss-green seat. "I must take off my mask — I
shall look as red as a milk-maid when we unmask. In the ten
minutes that intervene between this and supper, let me try and
get cool if I can."

He stooped over her with the whispered imbecility he knew
was expected of him, and fanned her with a palm leaf.

"Shall I fetch you a water-ice?" he asked; "it will help
you to feel cool. You will have it eaten before we go to
supper."

She assented languidly. Her mask lay in her lap, and
watching her with glittering eyes, the spectral domino stood in
shadow of the pahns. Count Lara's garments brushed him as
he went by — but Lara's eyes had noticed him from the first. In
a second Count Lara had vanished. My lady, looking flushed
and handsome in her boyish travesty, fanned herself in the
cool shade of a myrtle-tree. And behind the palms the domino
waited.

Both waited for what never came — the return of Count
Lara.

The moments passed on — the summons to supper was given
— the masqueraders were crowding to the supper-room, and
still Count Lara did not appear. In a storm of wrath and im-
patience, my lady lingered — twice to-night he had made her
wait — what did he mean ? "

432

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK",

She rose at length when patience had ceased to be a virtue,
and taking the proffered arm of an ogre, made her way to the
supper-tables. The laughter and excitement were at their
wildest — everybody was unmasked — everybody was making the
most astounding discoveries — everybody was present — every-
body but the exasperating Count of Lara.

No, far or near he was nowhere to be seen. A dozen voices
called his name ; no one could tell what had become of him.
Infuriated, mystified, my lady looked up and down. What was
it she saw that made her leap from her seat with a low cry of
fear, that drove the blood from her blanched cheeks? She
saw — for one instant, amid the crowd, the face — not of Major
Frankland, but of Sir Peter Dangerfield, looking at her. For
one instant only, then it too disappeared.

CHAPTER XX.

A DARK night's WORK.

HEN my Lord Ru)'sland had finished his little pater-
nal lecture to Major Frankland and saw that gallant
officer ride off, he turned to address Captain O'Don-
nell, and found to his surprise that Captain O'Donnell
was gone. The chasseur, indeed, had not lingered a moment.
With his straw hat pulled low over his eyes, lie strode away at
once through the town and to his quarters in the Silver Rose.
The slouching, cockney-looking individual to whom he had
spoken at the station was at the Silver Rose before him, and as
the captain passed through the inn yard, sat on a bench in
friendly converse with Lanty Lafferty.

"Dull?" Mr. Lafferty was repeating as his master passed
through ; " troth ye may say it's dull wid sorra sowl to spake
to maybe from morniii till night. But thin, on the other hand,
there's the hoith o' aitin and dhrinkin goin on late an' airly,
and niver a ban's turn to do half yer time, not to spake ov the
barmaid an' the cook, two as purty an as pleasant-spoken cra-
thurs as ye'd wish to kiss. It's a comfortable life entirely it
would be av the town was only Bally nahaggart instead of Cas-

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

433

tleford. But arrali ! sliure we can't have ivery thing. By the
hokey, here's the masther himself, long Hfe to him."

"All right, Lanty," his master responded, passing through
with a nod, and taking no notice of Lanty' s companion. " How
are they all at the Park ? Seen Miss Rose lately ? "

" I was at the Park above this morning, Misther Redmond,
and I saw her ladyship, the lord's daughter, an' she was axin
for yer honor, and bid me tell you the young misthress was
over an' above well."

O'Donnell merely nodded again and hurried on. It was a
very long time since his sister had been " over and above
well," and he could see plainly enough it was more a mind
than a body diseased ; and that this Gaston Dantree — the
scoundrel who had wrecked another noble life — was in some
way the cause, he knew now, thanks to Miss Herncastle.
But that he was or had been Rose's actual husband, had never
for an instant occurred to him.

Lanty Lalferty resumed his occupation of brushing a pair of
his master's tops, and his conversation with the stranger from
London, interlarding work and social converse with a little
music. His rollicking Irish voice came through the open
windows to his master's ears :

" *It was on a windy night, about two o'clock in the morning.
An Irish lad so tight, all — '

Bad scran to ye fur tops, shure the art o'man wouldn't git ye
the color he loikes !

"'An Irish lad so tight —

Oh, thin, divil fear him but he was tight — shure it's awakencss
all his Gounthrymen have. It's meself wud like a dhrop av
potheen this minute, fresh from the still — me very heart's broke
a drinkin' the beer they have in these parts, an' me gettin that
fat in it, that sorra a waistcoat I have in the worruld that'll
button on me good or bad. Oh, blissed hour ! v^'ill I iver see
the day vvhin all his sodgerin' an' his diviltry in Algiers, and
Ameriky, and England will be over, an' meself back in O'Don-
nell Castle on the ould sod once more ? Talk about grandeur
—about yer Windsor Castles, an' yer St. James' Palace — be
me word, the two av thim thegither couldn't hould a candle
to Castle O'Donnell. Sixty-three rooms — sorra less — a stable
fall of cattle — the best blood in the country, a pack o' hounds,
a butler in silk stockings, an' futmin as high as Fin McCoul,
19

434

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK,

the Irish giant, if iver ye heerd av him. Whiskey galore,
champagne for the axin', an' waitin' maids that it ud make yer
mouth water only to look at. It's little I thought, six years
ago, whin I left sich a place as that, that it's an English inn I'd
come to. It's thim wor the blessed times all out."

" Blessed times, upon my life," responded his listener, smok-
ing philosophically. "I say, Mr. Larferty, there's yer master
a calling of yer."

Lanty seized the boots and made a rush for his master's
room. The soft, silvery gray of the summer evening was fall-
ing by this time, and with his back to the faint light, the chas-
seur sat when his man entered.

" Come in, Lanty, and shut the door — perhaps you had
better turn the key. I see you have made the acquaintance of
that fellow in the inn yard already."

/'Jist passin' the time o' day, yer honor. They're civil
crathurs thim English chaps mostly, an' shure I'm not proud."

" I'm glad to hear it, and it is just as well your pride has not
stood in the way of your sociability on the present occasion, as
you would have to make his acquaintance whether or no.
Lanty, can you keep a secret ? "

•'A saycret is it? Upon me conscience thin that same's a
question I didn't expect from yer father's son. A saycret !
Arrah, Misther Redmond, is there a bad turn ye iver did since
ye were breeched that I don't know? Is there a bit av divil-
ment ye iver wor in (an' faith yer divilment was past countin')
that I didn't know betther than me prayers, and did I iver tell
— did I now? Faith it's late in the day, so it is, to ax me sich
a question as that."

"Well, Lanty, don't be indignant — of course, I know you
can. Then I want you to keep quiet this evening, and per-
fectly sober, remember ; to retire to your room early, but not
to go to bed. About half-past eleven, when the town is quiet
and every soul in the inn gone to sleep, take your shoes in
your hand, steal out as though you were a mouse, and wait for
me under the clump of larches beyond the inn. You'll find
your London acquaintance there before you — I brought him
down, and I want you both to-night. Lanty, did you ever hear
of a resurrectionist — a sack-'em-up ? "

" Sorra hear. Is it anything to ait or dhrink ? "

" Nothing to eat or drink. A resurrectionist is one who
opens graves, steals dead bodies and sells them to medical
students for dissection."

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK",

435

" The Lord betune us and harm !"

" And this fellow you have been talking to all the evening is
a professional sack-'em-up." The chasseur's gravity nearly
gave way at Lanty's look of horror. ''Never mind, my good
fellow, he won't sell you for dissection ; and, as I said before,
you must be civil to him despite his profession, for 1 have
brought him down on purpose to open a grave this very night,
and you are to come along and help."

" Open a grave ! Oh, king o' glory ! "

" It's all on the square, Lanty — no stealing dead bodies, no
selling to doctors — I haven't quite got to thaty^t. But I have
reason to believe a very great fraud has been perpetrated, and
that very great mischief may come of it. To prevent that mis-
chief I open this grave, open the cofhn, see what it contains,
and replace it exactly as I find it before morning. You under-
stand?"

Understand. Mr. Lafiferty was staring at his master with
an expression of blank horror and consternation. Open a
grave in the dead of night to see what a coffin contained. All
the " divilment " of the past paled into insignificance beside
this crowning act. Was his master suddenly going mad ?

" I can't explain any further, and it is not necessary for you
to know. Be on hand, as I said : keep sober, make no noise,
and let me find you with Joggins under the larches at half-past
eleven. They keep early hours here — all will be still by that
time. Now go, and mind, not a word of this to a soul."

Lanty Lafferty went — his mouth had fallen open, and he
forgot to shut it, his" eyes were like full moons, that blank ex-
pression of consternation still rigid on his face.

" Open a grave ! Oh, wirra ! Afther twelve o'clock ! The
Lord look down on me this night ! To see what's in a coffin !
Arrah ! is it taken lave av his sinsis intirely he is ! Faith it's
little rhyme or raison there iver was wid him or wan av his
name, but av this disi'nt bang Bannagher ! Bannagher ! upon
me sowl it bangs the divil."

But to rebel, to disobey, Mr. Lafferty did not dream. Had
his master informed him it was his painful duty to murder some'
one, and he (Lanty) was to assist at the sacrifice, that faithful
henchman might have groaned under the awful duty assigned
him, but he would have obeyed. And he would obey now,
although a legion of ghosts should rise in their winding-sheets
to warn them from their dreadful deed.

The evening gray deepened into dark. Ten came — the stcu s

436

A DARK NIGHT'S WORK.

were out, but there was no moon. Captain O'Donnell sat at
his open window and smoked. To him this last act was but
an act of simple duty to save his friend — the one last proof
needed in the strange discovery he had made. No harm
should be done — the coffin would be opened, and replaced
precisely as he had found it, the grave re- closed. And then
Miss Herncastle should hear all — should confess to the man
she had made love her the whole truth, or he would.

At half-past ten the inn was already dark and closed up for
the night ; there were but few guests, and these few kept primi-
tive hours. At eleven not a light was to be seen. Still
O'Donnell sat at his window, looking out at the dim starlight,
smoking and waiting. Half-past eleven, and punctual to the
moment, he saw Lanty stride across the inn yard and disappear
in the shadow of the larches. The time had come. He had
removed his own boots, and with them in his hand, made his
way out of the room, down the stairs, and through the door
Lanty had noiselessly unbolted. Not a creature was to be
seen — the whole town seemed to be still and dark. He seated
himself on a bench and drew on his boots, then he made his
way at once to the place of tryst.

Lanty was at his post — upright as a ramrod, silent as a
tomb, and giving his companion a wide berth — Mr. Joggins,
with a sack over his shoulders containing spade and pick,
and instruments for opening the coffin — spoke as he drew
near.

" Here we are, noble captain — up to time, and not a minute
to be lost. Lead the way, and we follers and gets to business
at once."

Keeping all in the shade of hedges and wayside trees, with
an uncomfortable feeling in spite of his consciousness of duty,
that this night's work was an underhand and dastardly thing,
the chasseur led the way. One belated pedestrian — one
doctor's gig they met, no more, and the trees screened them
even from them. They walked so rapidly that they were in
the churchyard before the Castleford steeples tolled twelve. As
the first sonorous boom of the midnight hour tolled out, Lanty
Lafferty crossed himself devoutly, and looked fearfully at the
white tombstones gleaming in the ghostly light.

Redmond O'Donnell strode steadfastly along between the
rows of graves, the lonely paths, until under its solitary tree he
paused at Katherine Dangerfield's. His lips were set, his
eyes stern — for good or ill he would know the truth soon.

''THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER,''

437

"This is the grave," he said, curtly. "Go to work; I'll
keep watch."

The resurrectionist opened his bag, produced his shovels,
gave one into the reluctant hands of Lanty, and set to work
with professional rapidity and dexterity. The two men worked
with a will until the perspiration stood in great drops on their
faces. O'Donnell had brought a brandy flask, and gave them
copious libations, until even Lanty's drooping spirits arose.
No sound but the subdued noise of the shovelling clay — noth-
ing Hving or dead to be seen. O'Donnell worked with them — •
there was no need of watching — and at last, far below in the
faint light of the stars, the coffin lay revealed.

The men lay on their spades, wiped their faces, and drew a
long breath. Then the resurrectionist and Lanty raised the
coffin between them — the damp clay chnging to it, making it
weighty — and placed it at Redmond O'Donnell' s feet.

At last ! He drew one long, hard, tense breath — his eyes
gleamed. " Open it," he said, in a composed sort of voice, and
Mr. Joggins produced his screw-driver, and set to work once
niore. The screws, one by one, were removed — the last lay
in the palm of Joggins' hand — nothing remained but to lift the .
lid and see either the mouldering remains of Katherine Danger-
field, or —

He made a sign, Joggins raised it, all three bent forward to
look. There was a simultaneous exclamation from all as they
bent again to reassure themselves. The late rising moon,
which had been struggling through the mists of coming morn-
ing, shone suddenly for a moment full upon the ghastly object
before them, and lit it brightly up.

They saw what Redmond O'Donnell had expected to see —

AN EMPTY COFFIN.

CHAPTER XXL

"the length of his tether."

HAT fateful July night, destined to be marked forever
in the calendars of Lady Dangerfield and Captain
Redmond O'Donnell, was fated likewise to be marked
with a red cross in that of Sir Arthur Tregenna.
"Sir Arthur Tregenna has run the length of his tether," Lord

" THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHERS

Rnysland had calmly said to himself while pacing the Castle-
ford station ; "it is high time to pull him short up."

For Lord Ruysland to decree was to act. This very night
Sir Arthur should receive his " short pull up."

He waited placidly where he was ; he saw Major Frankland
return, still gloomy and in the sulks, saw him depart an hour
later by the Parliamentary train, and not until then did he sum-
mon the fly, and give the order to Scarswood Park. There
was no hurry, the young baronet was with the Park party at
Morecambe ; they were to return to dinner, not sooner. He
was going to play his last great stake to-night. If he failed, his
whole future might be told in one brief, forcible word — ruifi ;
but not one pulse beat quicker, not one sign of agitation or
eagerness marred the serenity of his handsome patrician face.
As coolly, as deliberately as he had pronounced sentence of
doom upon young O'Donnell six years ago, he was going to
bring Sir Arthur to his bearings to-night.

The archery party returned ; separated for a brief space,
and met again at dinner. My lady was seized with that distress-
ing headache, and disappeared immediately after, Miss Hern-
castle in her wake. Sir Peter in a few minutes followed suit.
Miss O'Donnell, looking pale and fagged, made her excuses
and sought her room. Lady Cecil insisted upon accompanying
her. Squire Talbot cut short his visit and moodily departed.
Lord Ruysland and Sir Arthur were left alone before it was
quite half-past nine. Fate seemed inclined to take sides with
the peer. Two minutes after Talbot's departure he opened
the duel, and fired the first shot.

"What is this about a letter from Cornwall and your depart-
ure to-morrow. Sir Arthur ? I heard you telling Lady Danger-
field at dinner, but did not quite catch your drift. Business, I
suppose ? "

" Yes, business — business too long deferred. PenuAvalder
v/rote me a week ago urging me to return. There's a fever
among my people, there have been mining accidents and much
distress. It is greatly to my discredit that I have neglected my
duty so long."

" Humph ! then you positively leave us to-rnorrow ? "

" I positively leave to-morrow. I wish I had gone last
week."

He said it moodily, drumming with his fingers on the table,
and not looking at his companion.

" So do I," Lord Ruysland spoke gravely, and with unwonted

" THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER:'

439

energy ; " so do I with all my soul. For the last week Scars-
wood has been no place for you."
" My lord ! "

" It is high time for me to speak — a false delicacy has
restrained me too long. I would indeed prove unworthy the
dying trust of my dearest, my truest, my best friend, your dead
father, if I held my peace longer. To-night I will speak, be
the consequences what they may — to-night I will do my duty,
however distasteful that duty may be. Long before your
return to this house, if return you are mad enough to do, I and
Cecil will have gone, and it is neither my wish nor my intention
that we three shall ever meet again. My daughter's health
demands change — she is falling into low spirits — I will take her
to Scotland to the Countess of Strathearn's for the winter. I
merely mention this that you may make your farewells to her
final when you part to-morrow."

A flush rose up over the blonde face of the Cornishman, a
deep permanent flush ; his lips compressed, his eyes did not
leave the table. Guilt, shame, contrition were in his counte-
nance, and guilt held him silent. Let Lord Ruysland say what
he might, he could not say one word more than he deserved.

" I see I do not take you by surprise," his lordship coldly
went on ; "I see you are prepared for what I would say. How
bitterly I have been disappointed in you — of all I had expected
from your father's son — of — I may say it now on the eve of
parting forever — of the plans I had formed — of the hopes I had
cherished — it would be idle to speak to-night. Hopes and plans
are all at an end — your father's dying wish binds me no longer
since you have been the first to disregard it. But still for your
father's sake I will speak. On his death-bed he asked me to
stand in his place toward you. Hitherto I have striven to do
so — hitherto I have held you as my own son — all that too is
changed. You have deliberately chosen to become infatuated
with a woman of whom you know nothing — except that she is
your inferior in station — deliberately chosen to throw us all
over, and fall in love with a designing adventurers."

Tliat deep, angry red still burned on the baronet's face, his
hps were still resolutely compressed, his eyes still fixed upon
the table. At the last words, however, he suddenly looked up.

" Designing adventuress ! " he repeated, slowly. "You use
strong words. Lord Ruysland. Of course you do not make
such a statement as that upon mere suspicion."

" I do not. I condemn no one upon mere suspicion. That

440

" THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER.''

I suspect Miss Herncastle of some deep, mischievous, latent
object in coming here, is true ; that I suspect her of maHciously
working upon that poor httle superstitious fool, Sir Peter, and
his fears, and of playing ghost for his benefit, is also true. But
let that go — it has nothing to do with you, and for your sake
simply I speak. You have haunted Miss Herncastle like her
very shadow from the moment you met her first — for her you
have pointedly, almost rudely, I had said, neglected and over-
looked all others. There was but one way for this to end with
a man of your high sense of honor — in marriage. Before that
disastrous consummation is reached I lay a few plain facts
before you. Afterward you will do as you please."

He took from his. pocket-book a little packet of papers, and
spread two of them out upon the table.

"Be kind enough to glance over these. Sir Arthur. They
are the testimonials of character, and the references given by
Miss Herncastle in London to Lady Dangerfield."

Still dead silent, the young Cornishman took them. The
testimonials were carefully worded, the references were to a
Mrs. Lawton of Wilton Crescent, and a Jonas Woodwidge,
esquire, of St. John's Wood. He read and pushed them back.

"Well," he said, in a compressed voice.

" Read this also." The earl pushed another letter across to
him. " I wrote that, as you see, to my solicitor, asking him to
call upon Mrs. Lawton. You have read it. Now read his
answer."

He pushed a third letter across. For the third time the
baronet read.

" Lincoln Inn, London, July 29th.
My Lord :— In compliance with your demand I called at Wilton
Crescent at the number given. No Mrs. Lawton lived there, or had ever
lived there. I next called at St. John's Wood; a Mr. Jonas Woodwidge
had resided there about a year ago, but has emigrated with his whole fam-
ily to Australia. This is all the information I have been able to obtain.
" I am, my lord, etc."

Sir Arthur laid down the letter. The flush had faded from
his face, leaving him very pale.

" It is plain to be seen by any one not willfully blind, that the
references are forged, by Miss Herncastle, of course, for her
own ends. If Lady Dangerfield had taken the trouble to seek
them and find this out for herself, no doubt her very clever
governess would have been prepared with some plausible story
to account for it. This much I must certainly say for Miss

" THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER:'

441

Herncastle — she is one of the very cleverest women I ever
met. Do you need farther proof that she is a designing advent-
uress ? Let me tell you what my own eyes have seen — suf-
ficient in itself to cure you of your folly, if this sort of folly *s
ever to be cured."

He leaned back in his chair looking sternly at Sir Arthur sit-
ting like a culprit in the dock before him, and went on.

" It was the very night before Sir Peter saw the ghost under
the King's Oak, of which more anon. It was a hot night, bril-
liant moonlight, and it is a failing of mine that I can never
sleep well on very bright moonlight nights. It was past eleven
when I went up to my room. I knew it was useless to go to
bed, so instead I sat down to write half a dozen letters. It was
half-past twelve when I finished the last — I Ht a cigar and sat
down by the open window to smoke myself into sleepiness if I
could. The stable clock struck one, still I felt no inclination
toward drowsiness. While I still sat there, to my surprise, I
saw, at that hour, a woman and man crossing the fields and
approaching Scarswood. If you have noticed, and beyond
doubt you have. Miss Herncastle possesses a very stately walk
— a very commanding figure. I knew her instantly — I also,
after a moment or two, recognized the man. Of him, however,
it is needless to speak. He accompanied her to the very
house ; they parted almost directly under my window. I heard
hiui promise not to betray her. She appeared to be absolutely
in his power. When he left her she stood and watched him- out
of sight. All this was nearly about two in the morning, mind,
when everybody supposed the governess to be in bed and
asleep. How she got in I don't know. She came down the
next morning, looking as self-possessed and inscrutable as ever.
My suspicions were aroused, and I watched again the following
night. Sir Arthur Tregenna, as surely as I tell you, I saw her
steal softly under my window, a few minutes before midnight,
and take her post under the King's Oak. The gallop of Sir
Peter's horse could be distinctly heard on the :road. She wore
a long dark mantle, and as he rode up the avenue I saw her
fling it off and stand before him all in white — her hair flowing,
her eyes fixed. What followed you know. She picked up her
cloak and made her way back — how, Heaven knows. I tell
you the simple truth — to-morrow I shall tell it to all the house
— to-morrow Miss Herncastle quits Scarswood, and forever.
To-night I warn yoii^ Arthur, my lad — my son almost. Pause
while it is yet time — give up this miserable designing woman,
19*

442

" THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER:'

and forever. Do not bring disgrace on your dead father — on
your honored name — and Hfelong misery on yourself. Go to
Cornwall — go abroad — do anything — anything, only see Miss
fierncastle no more."

The earl's voice broke — grew actually husky in the intensity
of his emotion — in the perfection of his — acting. And still Sir
Arthur sat like a stone.

"It has been a bitter blow to me — a blow more bitter than
I can say. But I have learned to bear many bitter things in
my life — this is but one more keen disappointment added to
the rest. It will be better perhaps that we do not meet to-
morrow— let me say it now — good-by, and may Heaven bless
you, Arthur."

He rose and grasped the young man's hand. Sir Arthur
arose too — quite white now, and looked him full in the face.

One moment, my lord — then good-by if you will. All you
have said I have deserved — no one can feel how I have fallen
from honor and manhood more than I. Whether it is still too
late to repair my great fault must rest with you. What I have
returned to England for — what I came to Scarswood for — you
must surely know. I shame to speak it. It was to see and
know Lady Cecil Clive, and if she could so far honor me, make
her my Avife. On the night I first met," he paused, and spoke
the name with a sort of effort, "Miss Herncastle, I had fol-
lowed the Lady Cecil into the boudoir to place my fate in her
hands. Of the spell that seemed to seize me from that mo-
ment, you know only too well — it is a sort of madness that I
suppose few escape. For a time I was bhnd — I saw no danger
— lately my eyes have been opened to my own guilt. There
is but one who can be my wife — whether or no I have wronged
her too greatly to ask her, you may decide. If so, then I leave
England the moment my Cornish business is settled — if not,"
he paused. " It shall be as you say, my lord." He folded his
arms, very white, very stern, and awaited his answer.

The bound that battered old organ, the earl's heart, gave at
tlie words ! He was saved ! But his immovable face remained
as immovable as ever.

" You are but mortal, Arthur, and Miss Herncastle is a most
attractive woman. Without possessing a single claim to beauty,
she is a v/oman to fascinate men, where the perfect face of a
goddess might fail. She is a Circe, whose power all must feel.
It is not too late, I hope, I trust; and yet Cecil is very
proud. If she can forgive and accept you, / can, with all my

*« THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHER:'

443

heart. I shall not say good-by, then, but good night and au re-
voiry

He left him before Sir Arthur could speak — left him alone in
the brightly lit, empty drawing-room. He stood irresolute, then
turned and followed the earl from the room.

Now was the time — now or never ; let him hear his fate at
once. Something lay like a stone in his breast — the dark, be-
guiling face, the soft flute voice of Helen Herncastle was before
his eyes, in his ears. Of all the women on earth she was the
one woman he would have chosen for his wife, and Destiny had
written that he must never look on her face again.

In passing the length of the drawing-room to the -door, he
had to go by the tiny boudoir, where, on the evening of the
theatricals, he had followed Lady Cecil. The curtains were only
partly drawn, and seated within, her hands folded listlessly in
her la]), her eyes fixed on the dim starlight, he saw once more,
as on that evening, the earl's daughter. As on that evening, he
swept back the curtain, and stood, tall and dark, by her side.

Her half-uttered exclamation died away. Before she could
speak one word he was saying what he had come to say — hur-
riedly— incoherently— his face all set and stern, looking as
unlike a lover as can well be conceived. She drew a little away
from him, her clasped hands tightened over one another.
She sat perfectly still and listened — a sort of scorn for him — a
sort of scorn for herself — an utter weariness of everything, the
only feehngs she was conscious of. She listened with steady
patience to the end.

" He was unworthy of her — infinitely unworthy ; he esteemed
and admired her with all his heart ; it had been his dying
father's wish — he had her father's consent. Would Lady Cecil
Ciive do him the honor to become his wife?"

She looked up at the last words, flushing red in the darkness.

" My father's consent," she repeated slowly. "Sir Arthur,
tell me the truth. My father has been talking to you to-night ?
He has — oh \ how shall I say it — he has ordered you to follow
me here and say this ? "

" On my sacred honor, no. / have been talking to your
father — asking his permission to address you. I have said
before .1 am unworthy ; if you refuse me I shall feel 1 am
receiving the punishment I richly merit. If you accept me it
will be the study of my life to make you happy."

He stood and waited for her answer. " His punishment,"
she repeated with inward scorn. "Ah, yes, Sir Arthur, my

444

«* THE LENGTH OF HIS TETHERS

refusal would be a punishment not over hard to bear. He
asks me, hoping — yes, hoping — though he may not acknowledge
it himself, that I will refuse, and I — 1 must say yes."

She must say yes — her whole future, her father's, depended on
it. She could not brave his anger — she could not live this life
forever — what would become of her if she refused ? "

Ail at once Torryglen rose before her. and Redmond O'Don-
nell's face, bright, eager, loving. Yes, in those days he had
loved her. He had changed — she was no more to him now
than his cousin Ginevra, and while life lasted, she must love
him. No time to shirk the truth now, she loved Redmond
O'Donnell, and this man who stood beside her asking her to be
his wife loved Helen Herncastle. What a miserable, travestied
world it was, what wretched hypocrites and cheats they all were.

Why had she not been born a farmer's daughter to hold life
with a wholesome, hearty interest, to love her husband and be
loved in return ?

" You do not answer," Sir Arthur said. " I have lost all
hold on your respect and esteem, as I deserve. I.ady Cecil,
will you not speak at least, and let me hear my fate ? "

" What is it you wish me to say?" she asked wearily, a touch
of pain and impatience in her voice. " You ask me to be your
wife. Sir Arthur Tregenna — you are a man of truth and honor
■ — you have lost neither my respect nor my esteem. Tell me
triily — ti'uly — do you really wish me to say yes ? "

" 1 really wish you to say yes. If you do not say it, then I
leave England again in a month — for years — for life."

She drew her breath hard — she spoke with a sort of gasp.

"You will leave England! Theri there is no one else you
will marry if — "

" There is no one else I will marry if you refuse — no one."

He said it resolutely — a hard, metallic ring in his tone, his
lips set almost to pain.

" There is no one else I will marry — if you refuse me I leave
England. Once more, Lady Cecil, will you be my wife ? "

" I — will be — your wife."

The words were spoken — her voice faltered — her face was
steadily turned to the still moonlight. It was over. He took
her hand and lifted it to his lips. How chill its touch, but
scarcely so chill as the lips. that touched it. Then it was drawn
away and she stood up.

" I leave here for Cornwall, as you know, to be absent two —
almost three weeks. To-morrow, before I go, I shall speak to

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

445

IvOrd Ruysland. Whatever I have been in the past — this much,
Lady Cecil, you may believe of me — that you will ever be first
in my thoughts from this hour — that I will make you happy if
the devotion of a life can do it."

" I believe you," she held out her hand of her own accord
now, " and trust and honor you with all my heart. It is late,
and I am tired. Good-night, Sir Arthur."

" Good-night, Lady Cecil."

She left him standing there and went up to her own room.
What a farce it had all been — she half smiled as she thought of
it, love-making without a word of love, a proposal of marriage
without a spark of affection between them. They were like
two puppets in a Marionette comedy playing at being in love.
But it was all over — her father was saved — she would make a
brilliant marriage after all. She had accepted him, and fulfilled
her destiny. Her name was written in the Book of Fate — Lady
Cecil Tregenna.

CHAPTER XXH.

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

Y the first train on the morning following the discovery
in the churchyard, Mr. Joggins, in a third-class car,
went back to London. By the. same early train in a
first-class compartment. Captain Redmond O'Donnell
went uj) to London also.

It v/as a murky, dismal morning — this morning of the first
of August ; a sky Hke drab paper, a sultry oppressiveness in
the atmosphere. It would rain and thunder presently, and
clear the air ; pending the thunder and rain it required an ab-
solute effort to breathe. Captain O'Donnell had the compart-
ment all to himself, and ample time, as the express whirled
him London ward, to think. He sat back with folded arms and
bent brows ; Miss Herncastle's pale, set, cold face before him
all the way. His last doubt had been removed — the Kathe-
rine Dangerfield of the past, the Helen Herncastle of the pres-
ent, were one and the same. He knew as well as he ever
knew after the whole truth — the whole, strange story. It had

446

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

not been death, that trance which had held her, but one of
those mystic torpors which minds and bodies have fallen into
often before — a cataleptic trance, so closely resembling its
twin sister, death, as to deceive Dr. Graves. But the eyes of
love are not easily blinded ; Henry Otis had guessed from the
first, no doubt, what it was. Why he had not spoken — why
he had let the matter go so far as to permit her to be buried,
rather staggered the chasseur. Was it that he feared to find
his opinion of her being still living ridiculed ? or that by saving
her from the horrible fate of being buried alive he wished to
forge a claim upon her gratitude and love ? One or the other
it must have been — if the latter, he had certainly failed, ,or by
this time she would have been his wife. And that same night
■ — aided," no doubt — he had reopened the grave and taken the
still inanimate form from its dreadful resting-place. He could
see it all — the resurrectionist, the story trumped up for the
servant next morning, the mysterious sick young lady, who was
yet able to take midnight walks with the " master" in the gar-
den— the brooding of that powerful mind — that strong intellect
in the solitude of the lonely cottage. In that quiet upper
room, no doubt, the whole plan of the future had been laid —
the whole plot of vengeance woven. Perhaps, too, the narrow
boundary line that separates madness from reason had been
crossed, and much thinking had made her mad.

Then had come her flight — her exile to America — her the-
atrical success. Her object in this had probably been to make
money to carry out her plans, and she had made it. She had
returned — had worked her way into the family of Sir Peter
Dangerfield — and for- the past six weeks played her role of
nursery governess. But where was her revenge ? What had
she gained? what had she accompHshed beyond playing ghost,
and frightening the little baronet nearly out of his senses ?
Was it worth while to take so much trouble for that, to risk so
much to gain so little — or was it that some deeper, darker,
deadlier plan of vengeance lay yet ahead? If so, then perhaps
he was in time to frustrate it, and yet, in this moment there
was more of admiration than any other feeling for Miss Hern-
castle uppermost in his mind. Has your own fate been
ordered so smoothly that you should be the first to hunt down
to her ruin a poor wretch with whom life has gone hard ? "
The bitter pathos of her own words came back with a feeling
almost like remorse. *' With whom life had gone hard " indeed
— who had been gifted with a great, generous, loyal, loving

AFTER THE MASQUERADE,

447

heart, such as is rarely given to woman, a heart that had been
broken, a nature that had been brutally crushed until it had
become warped and wicked as he found it now. One of these
women formed of the stuff that makes the Charlotte Cordays,
Joans of Arc, or Lucretia Borgia as Fate will.

"Surely the saddest, strangest fate that ever befell woman
has been hers," he mused ; " ninety-nine out of a hundred
would have sunk under it^ — died of a broken heart, a ruined
life, or given up the battle years ago, and drifted into eternal
obscurity. But Katherine Dangerfield is the hundredth who
will fight to the bitter end. For Sir Peter it signifies little —
he richly deserves all she is making him' suffer — but Sir Arthur
Tregenna and Lady Cecil Clive are quite another matter.
There she must go no further. This last warning she shall
have — Otis may have influence over her. If she defies it then
Tregenna shall know all. The epitaph of Maria Theresa ap-
plies well to her, ' Sexa fcemina inge?tio vie.^ * A woman by
sex, but a man in mind.' "

He entered a hansom on his arrival at the metropolis, and
drove at once to the residence of Dr. Otis. It was a cosey cot-
tage hanging to the outskirts of the genteel neighborhood of
St. John's Wood, wherein the young Castleford practitioner
had set up his household gods. At the entrance of the quiet
street he dismissed the cab, opened the little garden gate,
and knocked at the door. A neat maid-servant answered
promptly.

" Was Mr. Otis at home ? "

The neat maid shook her pink-ribboned head.

" No, sir, not at home — won't be at home until to-morrow —
run down to the country for his 'elth. But if it's a patient,"
brightening suddenly.

" It's not a patient — it's business — important business. You
don't appear to know, I suppose, what part of the country your
master has gone to."

The pink ribbons shook again.

" No, sir — he often goes — the country he calls it — ^just that.
But if it's himportant business, misses, she's in, and will see
you, 1 dare say. What name shall I say sir?"

O' Donnell paused a moment. Mr. Otis bad probably gone to
Castleford to see Miss Herncastle, and no doubt his name was
faniiliar to both mother and son by this time. If he sent in his
card she might refuse to see him ; he rather preferred to take
her by surprise.

448

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

Well, sir," the joung person in the j)ink ribbons interposed,
impatiently.

" Just tell your mistress a gentleman desires to see her for
five minutes — I won't detain her longer."

The girl vanished — reappeared. " Misses will see you.
Walk this way, sir, please," she announced, and the next mo-
mejit he was ushered into the parlor and the presence of Mrs.
Otis.

It was like the parlor of a doll's house, so diminutive, so
spick-and-span, so glistening neat, and the little old lady with
her pleasant, motherly face, her gray silk dress, her snow-white
muslin cap and neckerchief, sitting placidly knitting, was in
size and neatness a most perfect match for the room.

You wanted to see me, sir." The knitting was suspended
for a moment, as she looked curiously and admiringly up at the
tall figure and handsome face of the Chasseur d'Afrique.
" Pray come in and take a seat."

"Thanks, madame. It was your son I desired to see, but in
his absence I have no doubt it will do equally well to say what
I have come to say to you. Mr. Otis is in the country, your
servant tells me — that means the town of Castleford, in Sussex,
does it not ?"

Her knitting dropped in her lap — the little old lady gave a
gasp. He saw at once he had guessed the truth.

"I see I am right," he said, quietly. "I have come direct
to-day from Castleford, Sussex, myself On the occasion of
your son's last visit to that place I believe I chanced to see
him. It was in the cemetery ; you recollect the little Methodist
cemetery, no doubt — just outside the town and adjoining your
former residence. Yes, I see you do. I saw him in the cem-
etery talking to a lady by appointment, I judge ; rather an odd
place, too, for a tryst, by the way. The lady was Miss Helen
Herncastle. Do you know her, Mrs. Otis ? "

Again Mrs. Otis gave a sort of gasp, her pleasant, rosy,
motherly face growing quite white. There were no words
needed here — her face answered every question. He felt a
species of compunction for alarming her as he saw he was do-
ing, but there was no help for it.

" You know Miss Herncastle ? " he said, not without a smile
at her evident terror ; " and are interested in her welfare. Your
son did her great service once, and is her nearest and most
confidential friend still. It is of Miss Herncastle I have come
to London to speak, knowing that you and Mr. Otis have her

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

449

welfare at heart. She must leave Scarswood, and at once, or
else, — or else, painful as m)^ duty may be, Sir Peter Danger-
field shall know the whole truth."

The knitting dropped On the floor — little Mrs. Otis rose to
her feet pale and trembling.

" Who are you, sir ? " she cried, in a sort of whisper. " Who
are you ? "

"My name is Redmond O'Donnell."

She uttered a low, terrified exclamation — then in frightened
silence sank back into her chair. Yes, she recognized the name
— had heard all about him, and now sat pale and trembling
with nervous dread, looking at him with wild, scared eyes. .

" I am very sorry to frighten and agitate you in this way, my
dear Mrs. Otis," he said, speaking very gently, " and — if Miss
Herncastle will listen to reason — there is really nothing to be
frightened about. But one thing or other she must do — leave
Scarswood or tell the truth."

"The truth?"

"That she is Katherine Dangerfield — not lying in Castle-
ford churchyard, but alive and in the flesh. You see I know all
—all."

She sat looking at him, pale, helpless, speechless with fear
and amaze.

" I know all," O'Donnell repeated. That what all took for
death was merely a trance, and that your son alone knew it.
Knowing it he allowed her to be buried, and that same night
secretly had the coffin opened, and its living inmate removed.
He restored her to life and consciousness. You kept her hid
in your house. She passed for Miss Otis, and was never seen
by any one but yourself and your son. At night, when all was
asleep, she took her airing in your garden, and after remaining
a fortnight, until perfectly restored, she ran away. She went
to America — she became an actress, made money, and re-
turned to England. She had sworn vengeance upon Sir Peter
Dangerfield, and all these years had never faltered in her pur-
pose. She made her way into his family as governess, and has
nearly driven him out of the few senses he possesses, by playing
ghost. It is a daring game she is carrying on. She is a bold
woman, indeed. That Katherine Dangerfield and Plelen Hern-
castle are one and the same, no one but myself knows or sus-
pects. There is the grave where they saw her buried, the
tombstone with its false inscription, to stagger them. I alone
know — I KNOW, Mrs. Otis. Shall I tell you how ? I have done

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

what your son did — I opened the grave — I opened the coffin,
and found — it empty. No mouldering remains — no shroud —
no ghastly skull and bones, and dust and ashes, but a clean
and empty coffin. How I have discovered the rest does not
matter. 1 know the whole truth. I am prepared to prove it.
Whatever motive keeps Miss Herncastle at Scarsvvood, beyond
that of terrifying its superstitious little master, I don't know,
but it is a sinister motive, a revengeful motive — of that I am
sure. And as they are my friends I cannot stand by and see it.
Let Miss Herncastle go to Sir Peter — to Sir Arthur Tregenna
— to Lord Ruysland or his daughter, and tell them her story,
and the?i stay her lifetime, if she chooses, and they ].:)ermit. If
she will not, then I will tell all, and give Sir Peter a chance to
defend himself from a foe so ready to stab in the dark. I might
have said all this to herself, but she has looked upon me as her
enemy from the first, and would set all warning of mine at de-
fiance. Your son is her friend — let him speak and she may
heed. I have no wish to be hard upon her — I pity her— I even
admire her — she has 'suffered greatly; but nothing save evil
can come of the course she is pursuing now. She must speak
before this week ends, or leave Scarswood — that is my ulti-
matum."

.He arose. "I see that I have distressed you, Mrs. Otis —
alarmed you — and I regret having done so. There is no occa-
sion for alarm, however. Miss Herncastle has only to drop her
masquerade and come forward in her true character, and I am
ready and willing to become her friend instead of her enemy.
But I will 7tot stand by and see this deception go on. I wish
you good-afternoon."

He turned to go, but Mrs. Otis, in the same frightened sort
of way, made a motion for him to remain.

" You — you take a good deal for granted," she said, in a gasp-
ing sort of voice. " I never admitted that I knew Miss Hern-
castle— that she is Katherine Dangerfield ; and I think it was
wicked of you, and sacrilegious, to dare to open her grave. She
was hunted down in her life, poor girl, and it appears she cannot
be left in peace even in her grave. I have heard of you before.
Captain O'Donnell — of your watching, and following, and inter-
fering where you have no business." She stopped as a smile
broke over his face.

" From whom, madame ? since you do not own to knowing
Miss Herncastle. You are right, too — / have watched and
followed. Fate seems to have taken a malicious pleasure in

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

pitting me against her. And as I find the role of amateur de-
tective disagreeable enough in itself, I trust Miss Herncastle
will not compel me to add that of informer to it. But if she
persists, you may tell her from me, that I never shirk any duty,
however personally unpleasant. Once more — good-day, madame
■ — here is my card — my London address is on the back ; I shall
remain in town three or four days If Mr. Otis returns during
that time, I shall be happy to see him."

And then the chasseur bowed himself out, and never had the
new duty which so strangely devolved upon him of all mankind,
been half so distasteful as when he took his last look at poor
little trembhng Mrs. Otis' distressed face.

" Confound the whole affair ! " he thought, savagely ; " I wish
to Heaven I had never seen Scarswood, nor any one in it.
What is Sir Peter Dangerfield to me ? or Sir Arthur Tregenna
either, for that matter, that I should fight their battles ? Now
that I have got into the thick of the fray it is impossible to get
out without dishonor somewhere ; I can't shut my eyes and
see the one driven stark mad with his superstitious ghost-seeing,
and the life-long misery of the other insured. I wish I might
see this Henry Otis. Why can't Miss Herncastle marry him
and settle down into a sensible commonplace matron ?"

He waited impatiently during the four ensuing days, but he
waited in vain. If Mr. Henry Otis had returned to town, he
did not call upon Captain O'Donnell ; and disgusted and des-
perate, on the evening of the fifth he returned once more to
Castleford.

He presented himself at Scarswood at once. He had not
seen his sister for a week. It was close upon eight o'clock,
and the silver gray of the summer evening was deepening into
twilight, as he walked up the avenue. The flutter of a white
dress caught his eye amid the dark-green depths of fern ; a tall,
slender shape, with bright, hazel hair, was slowly pacing the ter-
race alone. It was Lady Cecil. A soft mass of rose-pink
cashmere, silk, and down, wrapped her. She held a letter in
her hand which she read as she walked. And even in that
"dim religious light" O'Donnell saw, or fancied, that the fair
joale face had grown paler and graver than ever he had seen it,
in those five past days.

" Lady Cecil."

He lifted his hat and stood before her. She had not heard
him until he spoke. A faint, tremulous tlush rose up over the
sensitive face as she turned and gave him her hand.

AFTER THE MASQUERADE,

" Captain O'Donnell ! and just as we all began to give you
np for lost. I am glad you have come — I have been wishing
for you unspeakably. Do you know that Rose is ill ? "
Lanty said something of it, but I thought — "

" She is really ill — something has happened — I don't know
what, only that Miss Herncastle is at the bottom of that too.
Your sister has worked herself into a fever — she has neither
eaten nor slept, I believe, since you went away. Something is
preying on her mind — something which Miss Herncastle alone
knows. Oh, that dreadful Miss Herncastle ! Why did she
ever enter this house ! Captain O'Donnell, we are in trouble
— terrible trouble — and ^/^^ is the cause of it all. Do you know
that she is gone ? "

" Gone ! "

" Been dismissed — discharged — sent away in disgrace. It is
the strangest thing — the most wickedly malicious ; and whatever
her object could have been puzzles us all."

" Lady Cecil, you puzzle me. What new enormity has Miss
Herncastle been guilty of ? "

" You do well to call it enormity. She has parted Sir Peter
Dangerfield and his wife — for life, I greatly fear."

He had been walking by her side — he stopped and looked at
her now. He had delayed too long — he had shown her his
cards and let her win the game. He had thought to spare her,
and the mischief was done.

" Parted Sir Peter and his wife ! Do I hear you aright, my
dear I.ady Cecil?"

" It sounds incredible, does it not ? Nevertheless, it is true.
You remember the masquerade at Mrs. Everleigh's last Thurs-
day— that most miserable masquerade ? Ginevra would insist
upon going with Major Frankland as the Page Kaled — he as
the Knight Lara. Sir Peter hates Mrs. Everleigh — he abhors
masquerades and male costumes for women. Of course, he
was right and Ginevra was wrong, but his very opposition made
her more resolute to go. He told her if she went she should
never return, that she should not live under his roof and dis-
grace it. Ginevra defied him ; but in her heart, she owns now,
she was afraid, and ready to draw back. But that fatal Miss
Herncastle would not let her. She had suggested the costumes,
made Ginevra' s, and used every persuasion to induce her to defy
Sir Peter — deceive him rather, and go. Ginevra yielded. She
wrote a note at the dictation of the governess, to Major Frank-
land, in London, telling him of Sir Peter's opposition, asking

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

him to come secretly down, remain at one of the inns, and go
from thence to the ball. My poor cousin cannot even keep
her own secrets, and she told me. I said everything I could
think of to shake her resolution, but in vain. Finally I told
papa in despair, and made him waylay the train at the station.
You remember — he m&tyou that same afternoon. H*e talked to
Major PVankland, and the major finally agreed to give up the
ball. Ginevra, of course, would not dream of going without
him. But he insisted upon seeing her, and teUing her with his
own lips. Unfortunately we were all at Morecambe at an archery
party, and when he reached Scarswood he found only Miss
Herncastle. He wrote a note explaining all ; told her to have
his masquerade dress returned, and left her. That note Miss
Herncastle destroyed — she owns it ; and, Captain O'Donnell
— it seems almost incredible — she went to the masquerade in-
stead of Major Frankland and in his dress ! The major is
short, the governess is tall — she managed to make the Lara cos-
tume fit her. No one ever heard of such a thing before. You
will scarcely be able to beHeve it."

" I can believe a great deal of Miss Herncastle. She is a '
wonderful woman ! "

" A wonderful woman, indeed — it is to be hoped there are
few like her," Lady Cecil responded indignantly ; " and yet,
though something seemed to warn me against her — she had a
sort of fascination for me from the first. Well, Captain O'Don-
nell, it happened in this way : We returned from the archery fete ;
Ginevra pretended headache and retired to her room. All the
while Sir Peter was on the watch. Miss Herncastle dressed
her — a flyman from Castleford was in waiting, and he took her
to JVIrs. Everleigh. The governess had managed to secrete the
Lara dress in her room, and the moment Lady Dangerfield was
gone, she rapidly dressed herself, and walked — actually walked
from Scarswood to Mrs. Everleigh' s house. Sir Peter, in spite
of their precautions, had seen his wife depart, and followed im-
mediately. At Mrs. Everleigh' s he procured a black domino,
and in that disguise, and masked, of course, he watched the
page. The knight arrived in due time — rather late, perhaps,
and neither Ginevra, dancing or talking to him, or Sir Peter
watching, deemed it was other than the major."

" Well," O'Donnell said, curtly.

" Supper came, and under plea of going for an ice. Count
Lara disappeared. Ginevra had to go down on the arm of an-
other gentleman. At supper there was the usual universal un-

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

masking, and the first face poor Ginevra saw was that of Sir
Peter. Imagine her feehngs ! And the major nowhere to be
seen. A moment after, Sir Peter disappeared, and my unfort-
unate cousin, half dead with fear, made her way from the, sup-
per-room and the house, and reached home in the fly, the most
pitiable object you ever saw. Her first question was for her
husband — her first impulse to throw herself at his feet and im-
plore his forgiveness. But he was not here — he has not been
here since."

" Not here since ? "

''No, Captain O'Donnell. If he had come home and raged
and stormed there might have been some hope — now I fear
there is none. He is in Castleford, and his London solicitor
is with him, stopping at the Scarswood Arms. He refuses to
see his wife — he will never see her again, he says, as long as
he lives. Papa has been with him — I have been with him — ■
all in vain. He is harder than stone — harder than iron. She
has made his life miserable long enough — that is his answer.
If she were dying he would not see her now. He told her if
she went to that woman's house — in male attire, to meet Jas-
per Frankland, she should never live beneath roof of his. And
she never will."

'' But it was not — "

" It was not Major Frankland. Yes — yes, he knows that ;
it makes no difference ; nothing makes any difference. I be-
Heve he hates her and only wants a pretext for separation.
This horrible masquerade and more horrible governess have
given him that. He knows Jasper Frankland was in London,
and that Miss Herncastle played the double part of Major
and Lara on that fatal night. His answer is that ihat has
nothing to do with it — his wife went in the full belief that it
was Frankland, in male attire, and to the house of a woman
of doubtful character. If there were grounds for divorce,
a divorce he would have ; as there are not, he will still have
a separation. Lady Dangerfield may remain here until the
necessary documents are drawn up — then she leaves, and
forever. She is nearly insane, and no wonder ; think of the
exposure, the scandal, the disgrace. And to know — to know
it is all that wicked, revengeful woman's work."

He had never seen her so moved, so excited, so agitated in
her life. Was this the cause of the change he saw in her altered
face ?

AFTER THE MASQUERADE.

455

''And how was it all discovered? Did Miss Herncastle
confess at once ? "

"Miss Herncastle has not confessed at all. In some way
she reached Scarswood before Ginevra — she must have had a
conveyance waiting, and was one of the first to receive her in
her ordinary dress. The tumult poor Ginevra made aroused
the house. In the cold gray of the morning we all — papa
among the rest — gathered about her. She told her story in an
incoherent way. Papa listened in amazement. ' Frankland/
he said, ' Frankland at the ball ! — impossible ! I myself saw
him depart for London by the Parliamentary train at 6.20 last
evening. Frankland is in London.' He was positive, Ginevra
was positive. The end of the matter was he telegraphed to
Major Frankland in London — was he there or had he been at
the ball ! The answer came at once — he had not been at the
ball, was then in London, and would run down at once. He
did so, and then the murder was out. ' Had she not got his
note?' 'What note?' 'The explanatory note given to Miss
Llerncastle.' ' Certainly not.' Miss Herncastle was summoned
and confronted with the indignant major. ' What had she done
with his note?' And Miss Herncastle looked him full in the
face, and told him she had destroyed it."

" Did she say why ? "

" She said (and you should have heard how coolly) that she
thought it a pity Lady Dangerfield should be deprived of the
ball, and of wearing the dress upon which she had set her
heart, for a jealous whim of Sir Peter's and a prudish whim
of the major's. She destroyed the note, and allowed Lady
Dangerfield to go and enjoy herself. Who then had person-
ated the major — herself? But on this subject Miss Herncastle
was mute — as obstinate as Sir Peter himself. The Lara dress
was found packed in its box in the major's room, and the gov-
erness refused to confess or deny anything. They might sus-
pect what they chose — accuse her of anything they liked. If
they could not prove their charges they had better be silent —
she would admit nothing. And she would not. Ginevra flew
into a terrible passion and ordered her out of the house, and
she went — without a word."

O'Donnell drew a long breath.

*' By George ! " he said, " here is a mare's nest. And where
has she gone. Lady Cecil ? "

"To London — three days ago. Before she left, she had an
interview with your sister, since when Rose has been unable

456 AFTER THE MASQUERADE,

to leave her room. And Ginevra is in hysterics in hers. I
never saw papa so worried — so annoyed in all my life before.
He says Miss Herncastle is Satan himself in crinoline, and
that all her mischief is not done yet."

" I agree with his lordship. And her champion — her ad-
mirer of other days, the chivalrous Cornishman — where is he
that he does not break a lance in favor of this persecuted lady ? "

The soft summer dusk might have hidden from any other
than the keen blue eyes of O'Donnell, the flush that rose up
all over Lady Cecil's fair face.

" It is hardly a fitting time or subject for Captain O'Donnell's
Tsarcasm," she answered coldly. "Sir Arthur Tregenna is in
Cornwall. He left very early on the morning following the
masquerade — before the news had spread."

" I beg your pardon, Lady Cecil — believe me I sympathize
with yoii at least. Will you pardon me again, if 1 say I feel
but very little for Lady Dangerfield. Her own disobedience
has wrought her ruin — she has no one to blame but herself."

" That does not make it any easier to bear. But I know of
old how little sympathy you have for human error. She may
have done wrong, but she is suffering now, and suffering goes
far to atone for sin."

She bad grown white again — her face looked like marble in
the faint misty light. She was looking away from him as she
spoke, a wistfulness, a passion in her brown eyes he could not
understand.

" I dare say people who go through life as yoiL have gone,
neither loving nor hating very greatly, can afford to be cynical,
and hard, and cold. You have never suffered yourself — nor
erred, I suppose — how are you to understand or feel for your
weaker fellow-mortals who do ? But at least I hope you will
be able to descend from your tower of strength far enough to
sympathize with your sister. Be gentle with her, Captain
O'Donnell — at least as far as you understand the word, for she
is in trouble. Don't be too hard — your life is not all over —
even yoii may learn what it is to suffer, before you die ! "

She turned from him, and was gone — the graceful willowy
figure, the flashing hazel eyes. The passion in her voice — what
did it mean ? He watched her — an inexplicable look on his
face — a hard sort of smile on his lips.

" Even you may learn what it is to suffer before you die."
tie repeated her words inwardly, as he took his way to his sis-
ter's room. " Ah, Lady Cecil, you taught me that lesson

''SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

A^7

thoroughly six years ago. I was a fool then — a fool now — and
I fear the folly will go with me to my grave." He tapped at
his sister's door. "It is I, Rose," his familiar voice said.
" May I come in ? "

He heard a stifled cry from within — a cry of terror it sounded,
and his heart smote him. Poor little Rose ! Had it come to
this — had he been hard and unfeeling with her, and taught her
to fear instead of love him ? With the remorseful thought still
in his mind, the door opened and she stood before him.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"six years too late."

OOR little Rose, indeed ! In the dusk she came glid-
ing forward, so unlike herself — so like a spirit — so
wan, so wasted — that with a shocked exclamation, he
drew her to him, and looked down into her worn face.
''They told me you were ill. Rose, but not like this. If I
had thought ! — if I had known — "

She flung her arms round his neck, and hid her face oil his
shoulder.

" Don't, Redmond. Don't look — don't speak to me like that.
I don't deserve it — I don't deserve any love or kindness from
you. I have deceived you shamefully. You will despise me
— you will hate me when I have told you all."

" Will I ? I am not sure of that. When you have told me
all, I think I shall still be sorry to see those hollow cheeks and
sunken eyes, and wasted hands. Shall I light the lamps. Rose,
or — "

" No, no ! no lights ; such a wretch as I am should tell her
story in the dark. Here, sit down in this chair, Redmond, and
let me take this stool at your feet. At your feet, my fitting
place."

" My dear Rose, a most ominous beginning. What must the
story be like when the preface is so terrible ? Have you not
grown nervous and hysterical, and inclined to magnify mole-
hills into mountains ? Out with it, Rose ; I promise not to be
20

458

''SIX YEARS TOO LATE:'

too stern a father confessor. It's the story, I suppose, about
this fellow Dantree ? "

She had seated herself at his feet, her arms across his knee,
her face lying upon it. He laid his hand very gently on her
bowed, humbled head.

Speak, Rose. I am sorry to see you have learned to fear
me like this. If I was stern with you the other night I ask you
to forgive me now. If you and I may not trust each other,
whom may we trust ? I promise to be merciful. Is it about
this fellow Dantree ? "

" It is. Redmond, I ought to have told you that other night,
but I am a coward — a weak, pitiful coward. They say a guilty
conscience makes cowards of us all, and mine is a guilty con-
science indeed. For seven years I have kept the secret I tell
you to-night. Redmond," a great gasp, " you asked me if
Gaston Dantree was my lover, and I said yes. I should have
told you the truth ; he was more than my lover. He was my —
husband."

The last word seemed to suffocate her. She crouched far-
ther down as though shrinking almost from a blow. She had
expected a great start — an exclamation of amaze and horror —
cither as hard to bear as a blow. Neither came. Dead silence
fell. He sat perfectly still — a dark statue in the dark. What-
ever look his face wore, she could not see. That pause lasted
for perhaps ten seconds — ten hours it seemed to her. Then,
" Your husband ! This is a surprise. And for seven years you
have been this scoundrel's wife?"

" For seven long, miserable years. Oh, brother, forgive me.
I have done shamefully wrong — I have been a living lie — I
have deceived the kindest grandfather — the dearest brother,
but if you knew what I have suffered — "

That choking in her voice made her pause again. "And
suffering goes far to atone for sin." He remembered Lady
Cecil's soft, sad words of reproach, and again his caressing
touch fell upon the bowed young head. It had been a blow to
him, a blow to his love and his pride, and both were great, but
his voice and touch were far more tender than she had ever
known them for years.

"I can beUeve it," he said; "you have atoned for your
folly indeed. Don't fear. Rose. I can only regret that you
did not tell me long ago. Tell me now at least — all."

She told him — in broken sentences — with bowed head, while
the darkness of the August night deepened in the little room,

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE"

459

the old story of a girl's love and folly — of " marrying in haste
and repenting at leisure."

" I wasn't quite eighteen, and just home from my convent
school when I met him first, with all a girl's foolish dreams of
beauty, and love, and romance. He was very handsome — I
have never seen such a face as his — with the dash, and ease,
and grace of a man of the world. And if he had been a very
vulcan of ugliness, his divine voice might have won my dream-
ing, sentimental girl's heart. The aroma of conquest hung
about him — married ladies petted and spoiled him — young
ladies raved of his beaux yeux and his Mario voice, and I — I fell
in love with him in a reckless, desperate sort of way, as later I
suppose poor Katherine Dangerfield did in this very house. I
was M. De Lansac's reputed heiress then, and just the sort of
prize he was looking out for. Very young, very silly, not bad-look-
ing, and the heiress of one or two million dollars — a prize even
worthy his stooping to win. And — and Redmond, in these first
days I think he even liked me a little too. My grandfather
detested him — forbade him the house — forbade me to see or
speak to him. Then began my wrong doing — I did see him —
I did speak to him — I loved him — you wouldn't understand
if I told you how dearly, and — and — Redmond — I consented
to a private marriage. He was afraid to lose M. De Lansac's
heiress, and I was afraid to lose him. He threatened to leave
New Orleans and never return if I refused. I married him and
for a little time was happy in a fool's Paradise. Only for a very
little while indeed. My grandfather, in the most unexpected
and sudden manner, as you know, got married. Gaston was
furious — no need to tell you how he stormed and raved, or the
names he called M. De Lansac. I received my first lesson in
his real character then. That year he remained in New Orleans
— then little Louis was born, and all his hopes were at an end.
He might bid good-by to M. De Lansac's great fortune. He
came to me one night — we met in secret in the grounds — like
a man beside himself with rage and disappointment. He
accused me of being the cause of all ; it was bad enough to be
a beggar himself without being deluded into marrying a beggar.
He bade me savagely keep our marriage a dead secret from
the world. He was going to England, he said ; if he retrieved
his fortune there some day he might send for me ; if he did not,
why I was still safe at Menadarva. That was our parting. I
have never set eyes on him since.

" He went to England j he wrote me from London and gave

46o

**SIX YEARS TOO LATEr

me a London address — some publishers there. I answered, but
received no second letter. I waited and wrote again — still no
reply. Then I got desperate, the little pride I had left me rose
up. I wrote for the last time. If he wished to be free he
was free as the wind ; I would hold him or no man against his
will. Only let him return my picture, and letters, and consider
me as dead to him forever. I did not dream he would take
me at my word, but he did ; the next mail brought me what I
asked, my letters, my picture, and not one word beside."

She paused, her breath coming in quick short sobs. Her
voice was fainter than ever wheri she resumed.

" I was ill after that — ill in body and mind. A great loathing
of New Orleans and all in it took possession of me — a loathing
of life, for that matter. I wanted to die and make an end
of all the miserable, never-ceasing pain that tortured me. As
I could not die, I wanted to leave New Orleans, the scene of
my troubles, forever. A great and indescribable longing to see
Ireland once more — to see you — took possession of me. To
add the finishing blow, I saw in an English paper the announce-
ment of the approaching marriage of Miss Katherine Danger-
field, only daughter of Sir John Dangerfield, of Scarswood Park,
Sussex, to Mr. Gaston Dantree, of New Orleans, with a few
romantic details. I think I felt stunned, worn out. In a dim
sort of way it struck me I ought to prevent this marriage. I
looked in the paper again, determined, if possible, to save Miss
Katherine Dangerfield, and dropped it in despair. The wed-
ding day was fixed for the first of January ; it was the twentieth
then. It was too late. How was I to tell, that in New York
or elsewhere, he might not have still a third wife, whose claim
was prior to mine ? I turned sick and cold with the thought.

" Redmond, I wonder I did not die. I wanted to die. I had
such a horror of myself — of him — a horror too of ever being found
out. But there was little danger of that ; no one knew ; my
secret was safe enough. I wrote to you, but you had gone to
Algiers. There was no hope but to remain, and drag out life
at Menadarva. I still read the English papers for further news
of hiui, and at last I read the cruel story — the horrible tragedy
enacted in this house — the story of Katherine Dangerfield' s
wedding day, and what came after. She was happier than I.
She died, and I could only live on and bear my trouble alone.
I wrote to you again and again. A desperate longing to know
whether Gaston were alive filled me. I didn't care for him — I
abhorred him now, but I wanted to know. If he were dead, I

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE."

461

thought, and I were free, I would enter a convent, and find
peace for the rest of my days. But I was years waiting
before you came. You did come at last — you brought
me here — here where he disappeared, and where I hoped to
discover something more. But this man, Otis, in whose care
he was, has gone. I know no more to-day than the day we
came. This is my story, Redmond. Pity me, forgive me, if
you can."

He had listened in grave silence — he had never interrupted
her once. His hand rested still on her soft, dark hair.

"I pity you, I forgive you. It is easy to do both. And this
is why you came to Castleford ? If you had only told me — but
it may not be too late yet. Trust me. Rose ; I shall discover,
and speedily, whether Dantree be living or dead.

She clasped her hands impassionately.

" If you only could. Oh, Redmond, how good you are — how
good — how good ! If you only knew what a relief it is to have
told you this — to know that you do not hate me for what I
have done. I dreaded your knowing more than anything else
on earth — dreaded the loss of your love and trust. Even now,
but for Miss Herncastle, I might still be dumb."

" Ah, Miss Herncastle. And she knows, of course she does.
Pray what has this very remarkable Miss Herncastle to say
on the subject ? "

" She knew all, that I am Gaston Dantree's wife — how she
knows it, she won't tell. She knows, too, whether he is living
or dead, but she keeps her knowledge to herself. She told me
she had little reason to love or serve my brother's sister — what
did she mean by it ? That you were very clever in the amateur
detective line, and that here was opening for your genius. I
couldn't understand her — I implored her to tell me the truth,
but it was all in vain — she bade me go to you and tell you one
good turn deserved another. Redmond, she is a mystery, a
strange, desperate, dangerous woman."

"A mystery," her brother said. "Well, perhaps so, and yet
a mystery I think I can understand. A dangerous woman.
Well, perhaps so again, and yet a woman almost more sinned
against than sinning. I pity you. Rose, but I pity Miss Hern-
castle more."

His sister looked up at him in wonder, but the darkness hid
his face.

"You pity her," she repeated, ^'because she has been
turned out of Scarswood ? "

462

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

Hardly. Never mind, Rose ; you will hear it all soon
enough, and when you do, I think you will look upon this de-
signing governess, as I do, 'more in sorrow than in anger.' Let
us drop Miss Herncastle and Gaston Dantree, too, for the pres-
ent, and talk of yourself. You must understand, of course,
that in the present state of domestic affairs at Scarswood, the
sooner all guests leave, the better. Lord Ruysland and his
daughter are Lady Dangerfield's relatives, and privileged to
stay. For you — you must leave at once. Are you able to
travel ? You look wretchedly ill."

"Yes," she answered, wearily, "I think so. It is more a
mind diseased than anything else. It is such an unutterable
relief to have told you, and obtained your forgiveness and help,
that I feel stronger already. You are right, we must go at once.
Poor Lady Dangerfield. Oh, Redmond, brother, what a
wretched, wrong-doing world it is ! "

''Wrong-doing, indeed," and the chasseur's mouth grew
sterner ; "I have little compassion for Lady Dangerfield or
any of her class. Place Miss Herncastle, the outcast, and
Lady Dangerfield, the injured wife, in the balance, and let us
see who will kick the beam. Can you pack to-morrow, Rose ?
I shall take you to France at once. Then, when you are safe
with Madame Landeau, I shall return, begin my search for
Dantree, and move heaven and earth until I find him."

She stooped and kissed his hand.

"I can be ready. I shall have only one farewell to make,
and that is to Lady Cecil. I wonder if she is happy — you have
heard her news, I suppose ? "

He knew in an instant what it was — knew before the words
were quite uttered. His voice — his grave, steady tones — had
changed when he spoke.

"I have heard no news of Lady Cecil. What is it you
mean ?"

" I mean her engagement to Sir Arthur. He asked her to
be his wife on the night of the masquerade, and she has con-
sented. He departed for Cornwall early next morning. It
was Lord Ruysland who told us, and somehow, Redmond, I
don't think she is very much happier than the rest of us, after
all. He is very wealthy, and it is the desire of her father's
heart, but yet I think — "

Her brother rose abruptly.

"A great deal of nonsense, no doubt. Rose. You women
never quite outgrow your sentimentality. Sir Arthur Tregenna

'*SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

463

is a mate for a princess — she should certainly be happy. It
grows late, Rose, and you are not strong. You had better
retire at once, and, by a good night's rest, prepare yourself for
to-morrow's flitting: Good-night, my little sister — let us hope
even your clouds may have their silver lining."

He stooped and touched his mustached lips to her pale
cheek — then he was gone.

The house was very stiU as he passed out — a sort of awed
hush, as though it were a house of death or mourning, reigned.

What a contrast to the brilHantly lit, brilliantly filled rooms
of a week ago. Sic transit^'' he said, as his masculine tread
echoed along the vaulted hall ; " life's a see-saw — up and
down. And Lord Ruysland's daughter's engagement to Sir
Arthur Tregenna is not a week old, after all ! What of that
little romance Lord Ruysland told me six years ago in Torry-
glen ? " • ^

"Ah, O'Donnell!" It was the dfebonnaire voice of Lord
Ruysland himself that spoke. " Glad to see you again — glad
to see any human being in this miserable house. I suppose
you have heard all — devil of an affair altogether. May Old
Nick fly away with Miss Herncastle. Who ever heard of such
a proceeding before. Dressing herself up in Frankland's
clothes, and deceiving even Ginevra ! Gad ! she's a wonderful
woman ! And what the dickens did she do it for ? Out of
pure, innate malevolence, and nothing else, I believe in my
soul." .

" But it has not been proven that it really was Miss Hern-
castle," O'Donnell said; "you all appear to have taken that
for granted. She has not pleaded guilty, has she ? and your
evidence — conclusive though it may be, is purely circumstan-
tial. She owns to nothing but having torn up the note."

" She owns to nothing certainly, but there is such a thing as
moral certainty. It may not be evidence in a court of law,
but it is quite sufficient to commit a culprit in the domestic
tribunal. Miss Herncastle wore the knight's dress, and went
to the ball, and has got Lady Dangerfield into a most infernal
scrape. That is clear."

" Nothing is clear to me but that Lady Dangerfield has got
herself into a scrape," O'Donnell answered with the stubborn
justice that was part of his character. " Give the devil his
due, Lord Ruysland. Miss Herncastle made the dress for
Lady Dangerfield, but Miss Herncastle could not compel her
to wear it to Mrs. Everleigh's masquerade against Sir Peter's

464

''SIX YEARS TOO LATE»^

express commands. Miss Herncastle may have worn the
major's dress and gone to the masquerade as Lara, but I doubt
if seeing her there influenced Sir Peter one way or other. His
wife disobeyed him — she went to Mrs. Everleigh's in male at-
tire— defying his threats and the consequences. She is no
child to be led by Miss Herncastle or any one else — she went
with her eyes open, knowing her danger, and I must say — think
what you please — that in Sir Peter's place I would do precisely
what Sir Peter is doing."

"I don't doubt it," the earl responded dryly; "be good
enough not to say so to Sir Peter, however, should you see him.
He is sufficiently bitter without aiding or abetting."

" I am hardly likely to see him. My sister leaves Scarswood
to-morrow — Castleford the day after. I will take her to France
and place her in charge of a friend of ours there. Of course
it is quite impossible now for her to remain here an hour longer
than necessary. I am sorry for Lady Dangerfield — she has been
most kind to Rose — most hospitable to me. I seriously trust
this disagreeable affair may end amicably after all."

"Yes, I hope so," the earl answered coolly; "but I doubt it.
It is hard on Lady Dangerfield — she may have her faults and
her follies — who has not ? But with them all, Ginevra was as
jolly a little soul as ever lived. And it's a confounded bore for
me, now that everything is settled — " and he stopped suddenly
and looked askance at his companion.

"You allude to Lady Cecil's engagement, I presume,"
O'Donnell supplemented, quite calmly. " Rose has told me.
My only surprise is, that it should be announced at this late
day as news. I believe I am correct in thinking it a very old
affair indeed — of six years' standing, or more."

Very few people ever had the good fortune to see Raoul,
Earl of Ruysland, at a loss, but for one brief moment he was
at a loss now.

" Very old affair — oh, yes, very — ever since his father's death
— in fact, it has been tacitly — er — understood — nothing definite
— aw — too young, of course, and all that sort of thing. It was
~the desire of the late Sir John, as well as myself, and — er — the
young people were by no means averse to carrying out our wishes.
All is happily settled now — the wedding will take place without
any unnecessary delay. Are you going to Castleford at once ?
I should like half an hour's conversation with you about," he
lowered his voice — " about Miss Herncastle ; I have placed a
detective on her track."

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE-''

465

"My lord ! " there was an unmistakable shock in the words.

" A detective on her track," repeated the earl. " Take my
word, O'Donnell, that woman means mischief, and will do it
yet. I'll forestall her if I can — I'll find out who she is and
what brought her here, before I am many weeks older. I have
already discovered — ^" He paused — the figure of a man was
approaching them through the darkness. "Davis?" the earl
said interrogatively, " is that you ? "

" All right, my lord." The man pulled off his cap, halted,
and looked keenly at O'Donnell.

" Go into the library, Davis — I'll follow and hear your re-
port."

The man bowed obsequiously again, and went. Lord Ruys-
land turned to his companion.

"That's my detective; past-master of his business, keen as
a ferret. I must go and hear his report — it will not detain me
long. Then I'll tell you all, and I think you'll acknowledge
Miss Herncastle is worth the watching. Wait for me in the
drawing-room — Cecil's there, and will amuse you."

He left him and hurried away.

The chasseur stood irresolute for a moment — then, as if his
determination was taken, turned and walked into the drawing-
room.

He might have thought it deserted but for the low sound of
singing that came forth. The hghts were down — there was no
one to be seen, but far off in the recess where the piano stood
he caught a glimpse of a white dress and the gleam of a dia-
mond star. Very softly, very sweetly she sang an old ballad
that he had been wont to sing long ago in the little cottage
parlor at Torryglen whilst her white fingers struck the accompa-
niment. He crossed over and leaned with folded arms against
the instrument. She looked up at him with a smile and sang
ori i

" Oh, I loved in my youth a lady fair,
For her azure eyes and her golden hair.
Oh, truly, oh, truly, I loved her then.
And naught shall I ever so love again
Save my hav/k, and my hound, and my red roan steed,
For they never failed in my hour of need."

She stopped and glanced up at him again. His eyes were
fixed upon her, a steady, thoughtful, almost stern gaze. Again
she smiled.

" How fierce the look this exile wears who's wont to be so
gay. Captain O'Donnell, what is it ? "
20*

466

'*SIX YEARS TOO LATE.'*

The dark gravity of his face broke into an answering smile,
still a grave one.

" ' The treasured wrongs of six years back are in my heart
to-day.' Lady Cecil, my sister and your father have told me
all. To-morrow I leave Scarswood, the day after Castleford,
in all likelihood forever. Before I go let me present my con-
gratulations to the future Lady Cecil Tregenna."

She turned suddenly away from him, her head drooped, a
deep, painful, burning flush rose up to the very roots of her
hair. As she sang the old song, as he stood beside her in the
old way, the old, glad days had come back, the golden days
of her first youth. Sir Arthur Tregenna and the present had
faded for a moment as a dream, and Torryglen and her love,
the only love she had ever known, had come back. And the
spell was broken — thus.

She could not speak ; the keenest pain, the sharpest pang
she had ever felt caught at her heart like a hand. For that first
instant even her pride forsook her.

"And I can congratulate you," the grave, deep tones of the
soldier of fortune went on. " No truer gentleman, no more
loyal friend exists, nor, in the future, I believe no more devoted
husband than Sir Arthur Tregenna."

" Late — Miss Herncastle's slave and worshiper ! Pray add
that before you finish your panegyric, Captain O'Donnell."

She hated herself for the passionate words the moment they
were spoken, for the bitterness of the tone, for the intolerable
pain and jealousy that forced them from her. It was shameful
enough, bitter enough, humihating enough, surely, to know that
she loved this man, as she never would love the man she was
to marry — ^bad enough without being forced to Hsten to praises
of her betrothed from him. A deep, angry red had risen in
either pearly cheek, a deep, angry flame burned in either eye.
His calm, friendly indifference, the cool gravity of his look and
tone were more than she could bear.

" Miss Herncastle's slave," he repeated : " no. Lady Cecil ;
never quite that, I think. Her admirer, perhaps, if you like.
Miss Herncastle happens to be one of those remarkable women
whom almost all men admire."

" We won't split hairs over it. Sir Arthur is, as you say, an
honorable gentleman ; to that high sense of honor, no doubt, I
am indebted for my present felicity. If he were free to choose,
I fear you would hardly back my chances to win against those
of Lady Dangerfield's late governess. I thank you for your

*'SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

A67

congratulations all the same, and accept them for exactly what
they are worth."

She made a motion as though to end the subject, but the
chasseur, still leaning against the piano, had no present idea of
ending it.

" Miss Herncastle," he resumed coolly, is, as I have often
said before, a very extraordinary woman, and to be judged by
no ordinary rules. Without any pretension to personal beauty,
beyond a stately figure, a graceful walk, and a low sweet voice
— that ' most excellent thing in woman '—she will yet fascinate
where a merely beautiful woman may fail. She is one of those
sorceresses whose fatal spell of fascination few may encounter
and escape."

"And Captain O'Donnell is one of those fortunate few.
But then, if Miss Herncastle be an extraordinary woman,
Captain O'Donnell is a still more extraordinary man — extra-
ordinary for his hardness, and coldness, and impenetrability if
for nothing else. The spell of the enchantress has at least
been powerless for him^

" Quite right. Lady Cecil. It has been powerless, perhaps,
as you say, because I am naturally flinty, or because I have
lain for years under another spell equally fatal, and the one
has counteracted the other."

She laughed satirically, and began playing a waltz.

" The beau chasseur under a spell ! Impossible to imagine
such a thing. Who is the sorceress ? Some Diamond of the
Desert? — some Pearl of the Plains? — some lovely Araby's
daughter ? Who 2 "

"Shall I really tell you. Lady Cecil?"

" Just as you please," the white hands still played nimbly on.
" Perhaps you had better not, though. Love stories are a
trite subject — so old, so stupidly commonplace — they bore
me to death, either in books or real life. And I don't think it
is in your nature to have the disease very badly. I hope you
admire my waltz — it is of my own composing. I call it the
Rose Waltz, and dedicate it to Miss Rose O'Donnell."

"I like it, but I liked the song I heard you singing as I came
in better — my song, Lady Cecil. Do you remember the last
time I sang it standing beside you in the little parlor at Torry-
glen, as I stand now? You playing, and your father asleep in
his arm-chair — or was he only pretending sleep, and watch-
ing us ? The last time, Lady Cecil, though I did not know
it."

468

'*SIX YEARS TOO LATE,'*

She made no reply. She still played on the Rose Waltz, but
she struck the chords at random.

" I remember it so well. You were dressed in white as you
are now. White is your fitting color, Lady Cecil. You had
wild roses in your hair, and we sang together all evening, and
scarcely spoke a word. You have changed since then — grown
taller, more, womanly ; more beautiful, and yet — will you be
offended ! I think I liked the ' Queenie ' of Torryglen better
than the La Reine Blanche of Scarswood."

" Captain O'Donnell's memory is good," she answered, as
he paused, not looking at him ; "better than I ever gave him
credit for. I remember the evening he alludes to very well —
the last, though / did not know it either. And will he be
offended if I tell him I liked the Redmond O'Donnell who saved
my life, who sang songs, and who was neither blase nor cynical,
much better than the dashing Chasseur d'Afrique of six years
later ? I fear time improves neither of us ; I have grown
worldly, you a cynic. What will we be ten years hence, I won-
der?"

" I think I can answer. You will be Lady Cecil Tregenna,
the fairest, the loveliest, the gentlest of England's stately
matrons, the most loving of wives, the most tender of friends —
* a perfect woman nobly planned.' I shall be — well, perhaps a
Colonel of Chasseurs, the highest promotion I can hope for,
with a complexion of burnt sienna — or — or else occupying six
feet of Algerian soil. In either event I am most unlikely ever
to mQQ.tyou again ; and so to-night, before we say our final fare-
well, I think, in spite of your disHke to love stories, I must tell
you one. Not my own ; you think me too hard for any such
tenderness, and perhaps you are right. Let us say a friend of
mine — an Irishman too — now an Algerian soldier like myself.
Will it bore jou very much to listen, Lady Cecil?"

" Go on," she said, faintly.
It was — well, a number of years ago — when my friend was
little better than a hobbledehoy of two-or-three-and-twenty, with
a head full of romance and chivalry, an inflammable heart,
and an empty purse. He had a long lineage, an old name, a
ruined homestead, a suit of peasant's clothes, and nothing else.
He lived alone — a dreamer's life, full of vague, splendid hopes
for the future, and troubled with very little of that useful com-
modity— common-sense.

" One stormy autumn evening the romance of his life began.
An English peer and his only daughter came to his neighbor-

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

469

hood to reside for a time, and it chanced that his good fortune
enabled him to do the peer's daughter a service. They were
very gracious, very grateful, and showed it in many kindly ways.
They overlooked the peasant's dress, the stupid bashfulness of
my young friend, and invited him to their house, to their table
— he became the English girl's daily companion and friend.
And his brain was turned. I told you he was a dreamer — he
knew nothing of the world and its codes, was destitute of
common-sense, and he fell madly in love with the earl's daugh-
ter, I shall not tell you how lovely she was at sixteen — one
lady they say does not care to hear another praised. In those
days I — my friend, I mean — was poetic, and two lines from one
of his poets describes her :

' A lovely being, scarcely formed or molded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.'

* A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded,' a pretty idea and
a correct one. He fell in love with her — I have said she was
sweet and gracious, gentle and kind — as a fair young queen
might be to a peasant who had done her a service — too great
not to be grateful. And he — he was a fool — he mistook it —
mistook her. Will you believe it. Lady Cecil, when I tell
you this enthusiastic young Irish idiot believed his passion re-
turned, and actually deemed that for love of a raw mountain
lad, without a farthing in his purse, she would wait until he had
won name, and fame, and fortune, and become his wife. He
smiles and wonders at his own inconceivable imbecility when
he thinks of it now.

" I have one thing to say in his favor — he didn't tell her.
When this foolish passion of his grew too great for one heart to
bear, he went to her father and made his confession to him. I
can imagine how this worldly wise peer — this ambitious English
nobleman, laughed in his sleeve as he Hstened — it wasn't worth
growing serious over, and in his way he rather liked the lad.
He was wise enough not to laugh aloud however — if the young
Irishman had been a duke he could not have entertained his
mad proposal with more gravity and courtesy. His daughter
had been engaged from her fourteenth year to a Cornish baronet
of fabulous wealth, and was to marry him in a year or two at
the most. Was it possible she had not told him ? No, that
was strange, certainly. However, her father could speak to
her — if her heart inclined her to Irish love in a cottage instead
of Cornish splendor, why — far be it from him to go between

470

*'SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as
one/ etc. He was to go to-night — to come to-morrow and re-
ceive his answer from herself. Only, in the meantime — this last
evening, he was not to broach directly, or indirectly, the ten-
der subject to her, and to-morrow he was religiously to absent
himself from their cottage all day. In short, the English peer
dealt with a fool according to his folly.

" My friend has told me, as we lay and smoked, Lady Cecil,
with the stars of Africa shining on our bivouac — that that
evening stands out distinct from all other evenings in his life,
and will, until his dying day. Every detail of the picture — the
quiet, wax-lit room — the earl feigning sleep, the better to watch
them, in his chair — the candles burning on the piano and il-
luminating her fair Madonna face — the cold, autumnal moon-
light sleeping on the brown banks of heather without — the white
dress she wore — the roses in her hair, gathered by his hand —
the songs she sang — the sweet, tremulous, tender light all over
the lovely face. It will remain with him — haunt him until his
heart ceases to beat. They have met since then, but never
again like that — young, fresh, trusting, and unspotted from the
world.

" Next day came. They had parted without a word — he
had passed a sleepless night, and at daybreak had ridden away
— true to his promise in spirit as in letter. Evening came and
brought him — for the answer he hoped, he believed would be
yes. He had worked himself up into a fever of loving and
longing, he flew down the valley to the casket that held his
pearl of price. What do you think he found ? A deserted
house — an empty cage — the birds flown. Two notes were
placed in his hand by a servant, who sneered at him as he gave
them — two brief, cold, hard notes of farewell — that struck him
more brutally than blows — one from her, one from her father.
It was the old hackneyed, stereotyped form — she was sorry —
did not dream that he cared for her — was engaged to another
— ^it was better she should go, and she was always his friend,
et cetera. It was written in her handwriting and signed with
her name — her father's indorsed it.

" It was only what he richly deserved — ^you and I can see
that — for his presumption, his madness — the only answer that
could be given ; but Lady Cecil, men have gone mad or died
for less. In one night — from an enthusiastic boy — trusting all
men — he became what you call me — a hard, cold skeptic, with
no trust in . man, no faith in woman, a cynic and a scoffer in a

''SIX YEARS TOO LATE:'

night. He learnt his lesson well ; years have gone, they have
cured him of his folly, but it is a folly that has never been re-
peated, and never will to his dying day. Only — when they
meet in after days, do you think she of all the women on earth
should be the first to reproach him with his hardness, his cold-
ness, his unbelief? She taught him his lesson — should she find
fault if he is an apt pupil ? "

He paused. His voice had not risen — in the low, grave tone
she knew so well, he had told his story ; an undertone of sad-
ness and cynicism running through all. There was a half smile
on his face as he looked at her and waited for his answer.

She started to her feet — the angry flush had long since left
her face — she stood before him, pale to the lips — her brown
eyes met his full.

Captain O'Donnell, what story is this? Is it — is it — "

" My own. Lady Cecil ! Yes ; you hardly need ask the ques-
tion, I think."

" Need I not ? Yours / And what letter is this you talk of,
written by my hand and signed with my name. I don't under-
stand."

''You don't understand. A few minutes ago you accused
me of a defective memory. But I suppose a matter of such
trifling import could not be expected to remain in your mem-
ory. I mean the letter you wrote me, rejecting my presump-
tuous suit — telling me of your engagement to Sir Arthur Tre-
genna, the night before you left Torryglen."

" I never wrote any such letter." ♦

" Lady Cecil ! "

" I never wrote any such — "

She paused suddenly. Over her face there rose a flush, her
hands clasped together — she looked at him, a sudden light
breaking upon her.

" The note papa dictated, and which he made me write,"
she said in a sort of whisper. " Redmond, I see it all 1 "

The old name, the thrill his heart gave as he heard it. In
the days that were gone it had been "Redmond" and
" Queenie " always,

" It is my turn not to understand. Will you explain. Lady
Cecil? I certainly read the note, written and signed by
you."

" I know, I know." She sank back into her seat and shaded
her eyes with her hand. " I see all now. Papa deceived us
both."

472

*'SIX YEARS TOO LATE,''

In a broken voice, in brief words, she told him the story of
that note.

" Papa told me nothing — nothing. I did not know, I never
dreamed it was for you. And he hurried me away without a
word of explanation or warning. I see it all now. And the
hard things I have been thinking of you all these years, the
hard things you must have thought of me I You who saved
my life, Captain O'Donnell," with sudden passion, *'what must
you have thought of me ? "

He smiled again.

" Very bitter things in the past, Queenie — in the long past.
Of late years, as I grew in wisdom and in grace, I began to see
your father acted as most fathers would have acted, and acted
right. I don't mean to defend the duplicity of part of it, but
at least he avoided a scene — no inconsiderable gain. All the
wisdom of a Solomon and all the eloquence of a Demosthenes
could not have made me see my folly in the proper hght — the
utter impossibility of my being ever any other than friend to
Lord Ruysland's daughter. I would have persisted in falling at
your feet, in pouring forth the tale of my madness, and succeed-
ing in distressing you beyond measure. Your father foresaw
all that, and forestalled it — he could scarcely have acted other-
wise than as he did."

"And Captain O'Donnell, who might have been taken at
his word by a girl of sixteen, as silly as himself, is only too
thankful for his hair-breadth escape. I understand, sir — you
don't know what good reason you have to thank Lord Ruys-
land's common-sense. I only wonder the matter having ended
so well — for you — you care to allude to the subject at all."

" Only too thankful for my hair-breadth escape ! " he repeated.
" Queenie, if I had spoken — if you had known

" But you did not," she interrupted, coldly, so we will not
discuss the question. You have escaped, that is enough for
you. I am Sir Arthur Tregenna's affianced wife, that is
enough for me. I ask again, why have you spoken at all ? "

" Because I could not — hard, cold, inmovable as you think me
— I could not part with you again — this time forever — without
knowing whether or no you really wrote my death-warrant six
years ago. It was so unlike you — it has rankled so bitterly all
those years, and of late the truth began to dawn upon me.
Perha]:)s because the old, sweet madness has never left me ; and
when we have parted — when you are a happy wife and I am
back in Algiers — the happiness of knowing Queenie was all I

**SIX YEARS TOO LATE.''

All

thought her — my Httle love, my true friend, and not even at six-
teen a coquette, a trifler with men's hearts — will repay me for
all I have lost."

He stopped abruptly. She had covered her face with both
hands, and he could see the tears that fell thick and fast.

Sir Arthur Tregenna is my friend," he said, his own voice
broken.. "Heaven knows I have no wish to say one word he
may not hear, but, Queenie, I must speak to-night for the first
— the last time. I have loved you — I do love you — I will love
you while life lasts. If fate had willed it otherwise — if rank
and fortune had been mine years ago, they would have been
laid at your feet, where my heart has been all these years.
Free or plighted, I know well how utterly, wildly impossible it
would be for you to listen to me. It may be a dastardly deed
to speak at all, but I must. You pity me, at least. Ah !
Queenie, I would not have the past changed, with all its suffer-
ing, its loss, its misery, if I could. The thought of you is the
sweetest thought of my life. If I have distressed you by
speaking, I am sorry. Forgive me, Queenie, for this and all
the rest."

Forgive ! He asked no more. And in that instant, if he
had said, " Come," she would have left rank and wealth, father
and friends, and gone with him to beggary. But not for the
crown of the world would he have said it. He loved her — but
honor more.

" Let this be our farewell," he said, gently ; " let our real
parting be now. When we say it again it will be before the
world. We will both be the happier, I hope, for understanding
each other at last ; you will think me no more a cynic and a
scoffer — I will know you no more for a heartless coquette.
Good-by, Queenie ; may God bless you and make you
happy ! "

He held out his hand ; she laid hers in it — the other hid her
face. "Their hands clasped and the spirit kissed." " Good-
by ! " she heard him say again, holding her hand hard. Then
he let it go, walked to the door, looked back once at the
drooping figure, and was gone.

474 ■ ^ CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

CHAPTER XXIV.

A CHAi»TER OF WONDERS.

f^T^S he crossed the threshold of the drawing-room he en-
countered Soames, the tall footman.
fc^^^L^j " My lord's compliments, Captain O'Donnell," Mr.
^^^^ Soames said, bowing. " His lordship's in the library,
captain, and requests you to wait upon him there."

O'Donnell nodded and walked forward to the library — his
dark somber face betraying no more what had just passed than
a handsome mask of bronze.

"Come in, O'Donnell," the earl said, in answer to his tap,
and the chasseur entered the library, closed the door, and threw
himself into a seat.

His lordship was alone — the lamps burned brightly, but even
in their brilliance shadows lurked in the corners of the long,
stately room. The curtains were drawn over the open windows,
shutting out the dark, sultry summer night. On a table at the
earl's elbow, wine-glasses and cigars stood.

" I suppose you're nearly out of patience by this time," his
lordship began, " but Davis's report was unusually lengthy and
interesting this evening ; Davis's inclination for port wine was
even more marked than usual. The lower orders, as a rule, if
you observe, have a weakness for port wine, the thicker and
sweeter the better. Davis is a clever fellow, and a skilled de-
tective, but no exception to this rule. O'Donnell," he leaned
forward and asked the question with most startling abruptness,
" what do you know of Miss Herncastle ? "

But the sang froid of O'Donnell was equal to his own — if he
thought to throw him off his guard and read the truth in his
confusion, he was mistaken. Captain O'Donnell, lying at full
length back in his chair, pulHng his long trooper mustache,
looked across at him ; the conscious calm of innocence in his
surprised blue eyes.

" What do I know of Miss Herncastle ? Well, not a great
deal, perhaps, but enough to convince me she is a very fine
woman, a remarkably fine woman, indeed, both mentally and
physically. A little too clever, perhaps, as Lady Dangerfield
seems to have found out to her cost."

" You won't tell me then. Very well, Davis and L must find
out for ourselves. Only it would simplify matters if you would,

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

475

and I don't see why you should league yourself under Miss
Herncastle's piratical black flag."

" Will your lordship think me very stupid if I say I really
don't understand ? "

"I would if I thought so, but I don't. O'Donnell, it's of no
use your fencing me with the buttons on. You know more of
Miss Herncastle than 5^ou choose to tell — I believe you met
her before you met her here — in Algiers or in America. A
man doesn't take midnight rambles, as a rule, with a lady who
is a perfect stranger to him. Oh don't wear that unconscious
look — it doesn't deceive me. I tell you I saw you escorting
Miss Herncastle across the fields to this house between one
and two in the morning."

" The deuce you did ! And how came Lord Ruysland to be,
like sister Anne, on the watch tower between one and two in
the morning?"

" I was in my room. Have I told you before, I can never
sleep well on bright moonlight nights. I was sitting at my
open bedroom window. I saw you, sir. I even heard you. I
heard you both."

" You did ? May I ask—"

^' I heard her ask you as you stopped if it were to be war to
the knife between you, or words to that effect. You answered
it should be as Miss Herncastle pleased. You left her as she
stood, and she watched you out of sight almost — by gad ! as if
you had been her lover. And yet I hardly think you ever were
that."

" Hardly. I played the lover once in my life, and received
a lesson I am not likely to forget. Who should know that bet-
ter than your lordship ? "

His lordship winced. O'Donnell calmly took up a cigar
and lit it.

" I suppose I may smoke while I listen. Nothing clears a
man's intellect after dinner like a prime Manilla. Will your
lordship go on — you look as though you may have seen some-
thing more,"

" I have. I saw Miss Herncastle steal from her room the
following night, waylay Sir Peter and play ghost. Come,
' O'Donnell, I am possessed of a burning curiosity concerning
Miss Herncastle — make a clean breast of it — and tell me what
you know."

" I can tell you all about the moonlight night you speak of,
if that is what you mean. I remained later than usual at Scars-

476

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

wood, and going home I saw Miss Herncastle taking a moon-
light ramble, and presuming on my previous introduction, took
the liberty of joining her. The moonlight may have affected
her nerves as well as your lordship's ; midnight constitutionals
may agree with her, or she may have been paying a visit — this
at least is certain, our meeting was purely accidental, and never
occurred before nor since."

"And the mysterious words I heard under my window?
Keep your secret and hers, if you will, but I warn you fairly I
will find out for myself. Would you like to hear what I have
discovered already?" ^'

O'Donnell nodded in smoky silence — more interested than
he cared to show. Had his lordship discovered the truth ?

"Well," LordRuysland said, "from the night I saw her with
you, and the night I saw her play ghost, my mind was made up.
I had distrusted her from the very first — now I knew she was
a dangerous woman. I wrote a letter on the quiet to a friend
in London ; my friend in London, still on the quiet, paid a visit
to Scotland Yard, and sent down Davis, a dingy little man in
rusty black, with weak eyes and a meek air, like a parson run
to seed. He arrived on the very day of the grand denoue-
ment— the day upon which Miss Herncastle was expelled from
Scarswood. She had no friends or acquaintances in Castle-
ford ; she had announced her intention of returning to London.
Davis and myself were on the platform when she appeared — a
signal from me told him she was our game. From that mo-
ment she was safe : my share in the business was over. She
took a second-class ticket for London — so did Davis. It was
a Parliamentary, with no end of stoppages. What do you think
Miss Herncastle did ? Instead of going to London she got out
atTreverton Station, nine miles distant, and deliberately walked
back in this direction as far as the town of Lewes. It was quite
dark when she reached Lewes, Davis still unseen on her track.
She went to a remote little inn in the suburbs of the town called
*The Prince's Feathers,' and remained there all night. She
gave no name, and wore a thick green veil over her face.
Davis stopped at 'The Prince's Feathers' all night also. She
remained in her room the whole of the ensuing day — it was
nine o'clock before she ventured forth ; and wdien she did vent-
ure out, still veiled, where do you think she went to ? Have
you ever heard of Bracken Hollow ? "

Again O'Donnell nodded.

"Bracken Hollow is over three miles from this, and four

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS,

A77

from Lewes, a tolerable walk, as poor Davis found to his cost.
It was a nasty drizzly night, the roads muddy, the darkness in-
tense, but Miss Herncastle went over the way as though she
knew every inch of it. Davis dogged her— saw her within the
gate of Bracken Hollow, saw her knock at the door, saw her
admitted by an old woman, and saw no more of her that night.

" He waited until daylight, under the trees, in the drizzHng
rain ; but no Miss Herncastle reappeared. He could stand
it no longer ; the fear of rheumatism was stronger even than
his professional patience. He returned to Castleford, ate his
breakfast, changed his clothes, came to me, and told me his
story. When I tell you that Bracken Hollow is the residence
of the late Miss Katherine Dangerfield's nurse — when you re-
call the striking resemblance Miss Herncastle bears to the late
Miss Dangerfield — the coincidence, you will own, is at least
striking. The question, in this state of things, naturally pre-
sents itself to an inquiring mind — Did Miss Katherine Danger-
field really die at all ? "

" Go on," Captain O'Donnell said, with an immovable face.

" It is a question that has occurred to me many times. The
resemblance — noticed by all who ever saw the late Sir John's
adopted daughter — the coincidence of age — if Katherine
Dangerfield had not died she would be precisely Miss Hern-
castle's age now — and, lastly, this famiUarity with Bracken Hol-
low and Katherine Dangerfield's nurse. The grave is there to
be sure ; and yet — However, never mind that at present. Davis
had a double duty to perform — to keep one eye on Sir Peter
while the other was on the ex-governess. We had run the ex-
governess to earth ; we might leave her safely at Bracken
Hollow for the present, and watch the baronet's movements.
It will be a horrible thing for Ginevra, this separation. A
woman in this case becomes totally extinct for life. I want to
arrange matters amicably for this time, and I fancy it will be a
lesson that will last her for life. I had sent Frankland back to
town. I had called upon Sir Peter at the Scarswood Arms. I
found him sullen, and doggedly obstinate beyond all descrip-
tion."

' I've no objection to seeing your lordship for once in a
way,' said this amiable nephew-in-law of mine ; 'but if you've
come to talk of your niece, or plead for her, I warn you it's of
no use.'

" I ventured a mild remonstrance — ' the natural levity of
poor Ginevra's character — ^her vanity — her love of balls in

478

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS,

general — the deception of that infamous governess/ etc., etc. It
was all eloquence wasted.

" * Women of thirty-five should have outgrown their natural
levity,' returns my sulky baronet ; ' and her vanity and love of
pleasure have made a fool of her once too often. I told her
not to go, and she went ; I warned her of the penalty, and she
defied me. I don't care a fig whether it was Miss Herncastle
or Major Frankland — she thought it was Frankland, and that's
enough. I'll nev^r see her again — I'm blessed if I will !
I'll have a separation — I'm blessed if I won't ! ' Only the
word the noble baronet used was not ' blessed.' Upon that
I left him and set Davis on the watch.

He spent the day alone ; when night came he went to
Dubourg's gambling house. Davis entered, too, keeping well
in the distance, his eye on Sir Peter. He staked and lost,
staked and lost, again and again. He played for an hour,
losing steadily. In a state of savage rage he was rising to go,
when a waiter brought him a card with a fine or two penciled on
the reverse side. He looked astounded, Davis says, read it
again, dropped it, and went forward to meet a stranger who
entered. I'll show you that card presently. Davis picked it
up unnoticed, and I think it will surprise even you.

" The new-comer was of medium height, very slender, very
dark, with hair and mustache of that jetty black you never see
in an Englishman. He was a stranger to Davis, and yet some-
thing struck him as familiar. Sir Peter put up his double eye-
glass and stared in a helpless sort of way. * What the devil
drove you back to Castleford ? ' he heard Sir Peter say to him,
* I thought you were dead and buried centuries ago. And
you've changed, haven't you ? They used to call you good-
looking ; I'll be hanged if I can see it now.' The stranger
laughed good-naturedly.

" ' Yes, 1 dare say I have changed,' he said, ' and not for the
better. Six years' knocking about among the sweepings of
Europe, and living by one's wits, is not a life conducive to beauty.
I'm going back to America, and it struck me I should like to
run down here once more and take a look at the old place.
You look as though you wondered at that ; well, perhaps it is
to be wondered at. The truth is,' he took Sir Peter by the
button and lowered his tone, ' I heard something of this — this
ghost story, you know, and I had to come. Besides, I want to
find out Mrs. Vavasor. I say, Sir Peter, can't we have a private
room, and talk the matter over? I have a pocket full of

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

479

Napoleons here, and we can indulge in a little game of 6cart6
at the same time.'

" The baronet was touched in his vital spot — ecart^. They
got the private room and had their little game. They played
until long after midnight ; when they came out, the baronet was
in the wild state of elation he is always in when he wins. * I
thought luck would turn,' he said to Dubourg, whenjie came
out. ' I've won sixty Naps of this gentleman, and mean to win
as many more to-morrow night. Don't forget, Dantree ; I'll
give you your revenge to-morrow evening at the Scarswood
Arms.' "

" Dantree ! " O'Donnell exclaimed.

"I see you remember the name — Katherine Dangerfield's
rascally lover. Here's the card Davis picked up in the gambling
house."

O'Donnell was fully aroused now. He flung his cigar away
and took the card. On one side was engraved the name
" Gaston Dantree," on the other was written in pencil :

My Dear Sir Peter — I must see you for a moment. I
have heard this story of your seeing the ghost of K. D. Per-
haps I can throw some light on the subject. G. D."

"This is extraordinary," the chasseur said ; "pray go on, my
lord."

"Ah, your interest is aroused at last. Wait until you have
heard all. The two men parted in Castleford, High street, and
Davis followed the wrong man, Sir Peter. His professional in-
stincts told him the other was his game, but his orders were Sir
Peter. The baronet remained within doors all next day — and
Davis strolled quietly over to Bracken Hollow, and hung about
the trees, keeping the windows well in sight. He made two
discoveries — first that Miss Herncastle was still there, second
that she and the old woman have a prisoner of some kind in
hiding."

"A prisoner ! " O'Donnell repeated, thinking of what he had
heard at that gruesome house.

"A prisoner — d.xi idiot. Davis is certain. It — he or she —
he couldn't tell which, came to the window twice, jibberingand
moaning, and uttering strange, unearthly sounds. Once the
hard-featured old woman pulled him away, exclaiming, * Drat
the fool ! a body can't turn their back but you're at the window.'
The second time Miss Herncastle drew him back — speaking
very gently and kindly. He saw her quite plainly, the window
was up and she shut it down. As dusk drew on he returned to

48o

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

Castleford and his watch on the baronet. Sir Peter was out —
had gone for a walk — to the cemetery of all places ; and Davis
slipped into his room. If he could only stow himself away and
see and hear what went on ! There was an old-fashioned clothes-
press at one end, with a small window, hung from within with a
muslin blind. He ran the risk and took his post in there. At
ten precisely Sir Peter entered and Dantree with him. The
baronet sat with his back to the clothes-press, Dantree in plain
view. Again Davis was struck with the familiarity of the face,
but zvhere had he seen it ? He looked and listened, and the
game went on. It was ^carte, and, before the first quarter of an
hour was over, he saw that the baronet did not stand the ghost
of a chasice against his adversary. Dantree was far and away
the better player of the two. And he had sat down to win — his
losses last night had been but the usual ruse. They played, and
from the first game luck went steadily against the baronet. He
ordered wine and brandy, he drank recklessly — his eagerness
and fury were something horrible. Dantree won and v/on —
his dark face like stone, his eyes devilish in their malice and
triumph. Morning was breaking when he arose, and he held in
his hand Sir Peter's check for eight thousand pounds. They
had played for high stakes, and luck had gone dead against the
baronet.

" * I'll win it back — by Heaven, I will ! ' Sir Peter cried,
livid and trembling with fury. ' Remember, Dantree, you're to
return to-night ; I'll have it back or lose more.'

" Dantree bowed and smiled suavely.
' I shall only be too happy to give you your revenge, Sir
Peter. I shall return without fail to-night.'

" Sir Peter accompanied him to the door. Davis seized the
opportunity to slip from his hiding place, half stifled from want
of air, and half dead from want of sleep. But before sleep or
rest was the necessity of finding out something more about this
fortunate Dantree. He resolved to follow him home, and he
did it. In the gray of the summer morning he dogged Dan-
tree to his abode. It was — here is another astonisher for you —
Brackeji Hollow r

The chasseur could only sit and stare. " Bracken Hollow ? "
he murmured, helplessly.

" Bracken Hollow. And as he watched him enter, the whole
truth burst upon him — the familiarity- of his face, his walk —
we-e explained. Gaston Dantree and Helen Plerncastle were
one and the same."

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

O'Donnell fairly rose from his chair in the intensity of his
surprise.

" Impossible ! " he exclaimed. ^' My lord, what is it you are
sayiiig ? Oh, this is too much ! "

''It is the truth — I am convinced of it. That woman is
capable of anything — anything under Heaven. She personated
Frankland at the ball, she personates Gaston Dantree now.
Gaston Dantree in propria persorics it couldn't be — that I
know."

" You know — how ? "

" When I got that card, and heard Davis' description of him,
I went to Dr. Graves, of Castleford. He knew him, you re-
member ; and asked him for information. The description he
gave me of Dantree in no way agreed with Davis' description,
except in the color of the hair and mustache. I asked Graves
if Dantree ever recovered from his fall downstairs. The doctor
shook his head. I have asked Otis, and he says yes, but I
don't beHeve it. He couldn't recover. Alive he may be — but
if alive he is an idiot. It was impossible, from the nature of
the injury he received, that health and reason could both re-
turn."

O'Donnell sat mute, his head in a whirl.

" Davis came to me, made his report, returned to the Silver
Rose, and slept all day. Sir Peter kept his bed all day — I
visited the Scarsvv^ood Arms and found that out. Then I took
a stroll in the direction of Bracken Hollow. It is the loneliest
of all lonely places — no one ever goes there. The thick growth
of trees renders it a capital spot for a spy. Safely out of sight
myself, I watched that upper window. I had my reward — the
jibbering, idiotic face appeared, laughing, mouthing, and talk-
ing to itself. I had brought with me a powerful pocket telescope,
and took a long look before any one came. O'Donnell, here
is the crowning discovery of the whole — I believe that idiot
hidden at Bracken Hollow to be Gaston Dantree ! "

" Gracious Heaven ! "

" Graves had described the face, remember, and I had a good
look. The description tallied. It was a handsome face — or
had been when the light of reason was there ; black eyes, black
hair — regular features, and shaven smooth. The idea would
not have struck me had Graves not mentioned that Dantree, if
alive, must be an idiot. The question is, what brings him
there ? "

" A question I cannot answer. I am utterly dazed and
21

482

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

stunned. I never heard such an extraordinary chain cf occur-
rences in all my life. To think that Miss Herncastle should
personate Gaston Dantree. My lord, it seems it must be sim-
ply preposterous. Why, Sir Peter knew Dantree — ^would see
the imposture at once."

" Sir Peter would see nothing of the kind — Sir Peter is as
blind as a bat, can't see two inches beyond his own nose. He
takes Gaston Dantree for granted. Davis is right, you'll find.
Was there ever such another woman in the world ? "

"Never, I hope. And it is really your impression that Gas-
ton Dantree, an idiot, is imprisoned at Bracken Hollow?"

*' It is really my impression, and I can only account for it in
this way : Katherine Dangerfield left him in charge of this Mr.
Otis — from what I hear I infer Otis was in love with Katherine
Dangerfield, and her wishes were sacred. He restored Dan-
tree to health but not to reason, and placed him with the girl's
nurse in this desolate house. That is my theory, and it will
hold good in the end, you'll find."

" If you saw a portrait of this Gaston Dantree," O'Donnell
said, thoughtfully, "you could tell, I suppose, whether or no it
was the same face you saw at Bracken Hollow?"

"I am certain I could. But is it probable we can procure
such a portrait ? "

" It is possible, I think. Pray go on and let me hear all.
Did Gaston Dantree or Helen Herncastle return to the Scars-
wood Arms that night ? "

"-That night was last night, and the soi-disant Dantree
returned. Just before nightfall Davis resumed his post under
the fir-trees to watch and wait. He was close to the house and
kept his eye well on the windows. He saw nothing, but he
heard as unearthly and blood-curdling a cry as ever came from
maniac lips. If the house were not so utterly isolated and
reputed to be haunted (from those very cries), the keeping of
this imbecile there, unknown, could never have gone on this
long. It was a hazy, muggy sort of day, sultry and sunless,
and at half-past eight was quite dark. There was neither moon
nor stars. Taking advantage of the gloom my detective actu-
ally entered the stone porch and examined the fastenings of the
door. He found them, as he suspected, old and frail — in ten
minutes at any time he could effect an entrance. No doubt
the windows were the same, but before he could test the win-
dows he heard bolts undrawn and voices from within. He had
just time to dart behind the porch when Miss Herncastle made

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

483

her appearance — Miss Herncastle, en garmi, and a very flash-
ing young fellow she makes, Davis tells me, black mustache,
black evening suit, slouched wide-awake hat, and a wig of curly
black hair. Davis has the eye of a hawk — he knew her
instanter. A tall, hard-featured old woman followed ; old Han-
nah, no doubt, once Katherine Dangerfield's nurse.

" 'It's a daring game — a dangerous game, my child,' he
heard the old woman say in an anxious tone. ' You'll play it
once too often I greatly fear. Let Sir Peter once suspect, and
you're caught like a mouse in a trap. He has the cunning of
Satan. I know that of old.'

"'We both know it, don't we, Hannah?' he heard Miss
Herncastle say — (there's no mistaking his description of her
soft, slow, sweet tones ; the one thing it appears she cannot
change), ^ and to our cost. Let us see if my cunning cannot
overmatch his now. It's a long lane that has ?io turning. I
think the turning for the most noble baronet of Scarswood has
come, and he shall find it out shortly to his cost. Do you know
the vow I vowed that last night long ago when he insulted me?
"Living," I said, "I will pursue you to the ends of the earth
— dead, I will come from the grave to torment you." Hannah,
I have kept that vow. I have come from the grave — from the
very jaws of death ; to torment him. I have separated him from
his wife — I have frightened him with ghost-seeing until his ovm
shadow on the wall makes him tremble and turn pale, and last,
but not least — I take his money. Six thousand in one night is
a very respectable haul. Hannah — let us see if we cannot make
it six more to-night. He doesn't know what a severe appren-
ticeship I have passed to all grades of skill for his benefit. He
is paying me back the three thousand he once refused, with inter-
est, is he not? Good-night, Hannah, don't fear for me. After
to-night Sir Peter shall have breathing space. Try and keep
our poor patient quiet ; this seems one of his noisy nights.
And don't sit up for me — there's a good soul. I won't be home
until daylight.'

" A very remarkable and mysterious speech, is it not, O'Don-
nell ? It struck Davis in that light, and he recollected every
word of it, but then Davis has an uncommonly tenacious memory.
What do you suppose she could have meant now by coming
from the grave, and vowing vows, and all that melodrama ?
Did Katherine Dangerfield not die after all ? Was that death
and burial only sham ; and is Miss Herncastle Katherine Dan-
gerfield alive in flesh ? "

484

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

His lordship looked keenly across the table at his companion.
Still the chasseur sat like the marble Agamemnon behind him,
his face locked in as stony calm.

*' Go on," was his grim response.

" Davis followed, as in duty bound, and saw the personator
of Mr. Dantree safe within the baronet's apartments. He hov-
ered about the passage — airing his eye and ear at the keyhole
when opportunity presented. They played the live-long night
— the baronet more desperately, more recklessly than ever,
more like a madman, indeed, than a sane gambler. He drank
brandy at a perfectly furious rate — he doubled and redoubled
the stakes and still he lost — lost. He seemed to go mad at
last ; an immense heap of gold and bank-notes changed hands.
Davis calculates that he must have lost enormously — thousands.
He sprang up at last as day was dawning, with a perfect shriek
of rage and frenzy, accused Dantree of foul play, of being
in league with the devil to rob him. Dantree laughed in his
face, and swept the gold and notes into his pockets, Ming them
all.

" ' I'll take your check for the remainder, Sir Peter Danger-
field,' he said, coolly ; ' eighteen hundred pounds exactly.'

" The words seemed to goad the little baronet to madness ;
he sprang upon Dantree and seized him by the throat (I say
Dantree, you understand, for convenience). The next instant
there was a sharp click, and through the keyhole Davis saw the
cold muzzle of a pistol held within an inch of the baronet's head.

' You coward — you bully — you fool ! ' he heard Dantree say
between his clenched teeth. ' Stand off, or, by the Lord that
made me, I'll shoot you. Write out the check, or — '

" He did not need to say more. The baronet turned of a
greenish white, and fell back with a yelp of terror. He wrote
the check, his hand shaking so that he could hardly hold the
pen, and passed it with a white face of abject fear to the
other. Dantree pocketed it and the pistol.

" '■ I shall cash these checks at Castleford Bank to-day,' were
his parting words, 'and I shall carry my pistol. Don't let me
see you anywhere in the visible horizon. Shall we cry quits
this morning, or shall I return to-night and give you a second
7'evengeV He laughed insolently in Sir Peter's face. 'Ah, I
see. You've had enough. Well, good-morning to you. Sir
Peter. My advice is like Lady Macbeth's : " To bed ! to bed ! "
You really haven't the nerve, you know, for this sort of thing.
As I've heard them say out in New York : " You can't gamble

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS,

485

worth a cent." Once more, most noble Lord of Scarswood,
adieu ! '

"Davis followed Mr. Dantree back, and saw him safely
housed at Bracken Hollow. Then he returned — to report to
me and take his necessary sleep. Oft' and on I have been on
the v/atch myself to-day, but have discovered nothing. I also
called upon Sir Peter this afternoon, and found him in bed —
his complexion yellower than I ever saw it, his wizen face
more wizen — a picture of abject misery and despair. He was
only too glad to pour his piteous tale into any sympathetic ear.
He had lost in two nights thirteen thousand pounds. Enor-
mous stakes, surely. I got the story of the pistol, of Dantree's
threatening language, of his conviction of foul play. Personal
fear of that pistol alone prevents his giving the case into the
hands of the police, and having Dantree arrested for carrying
deadly weapons and threatening his life. Of his wife or the
separation he declined to speak — that is a minor matter com-
pared to the loss of his money. Now, my idea is, to find
Miss lierncastle, prove my knowledge of her infamous con-
duct— threaten her with the law, and make her refund all, or
part, of her ill-gotten gain. Then I shall make its restoration
and her exposure the price of Sir Peter's peace with his wife.
I see no other way at present to patch up matters between
him and Ginevra."

"And that will fail," O'Donnell said, decisively. "You
mistake both Miss Herncastle and Sir Peter if you fancy you
can intimidate the one, or trust the other. She will laugh in
your face as she did in his, and defy you, and he will promise
whatever you desire, and break the promise, the instant the
money is restored. That way is hopeless, believe me."

"Then what is to be done? Let this nefarious plot go on
— let her escape with her spoils — let this idiot remain shut up
there — terrifying all who hear him? O'Donnell, you know
more of this extraordinary woman than you choose to tell ; in
the face of all this, can you still be silent? It is the duty of
every man to hunt such a woman as that down."

"And yet to hunt woman down seems hardly a credit-
able or manly thing. And Sir Peter Dangerfield and Gaston
Dantree may have rightly earned all that has befallen them. I
believe all you have told me of Miss Herncastle, and yet with-
out being particularly maudlin or soft-hearted, I don't feel dis-
posed to sit in judgment upon her. Wait, my lord, give me
time to think. One's head whirls after all this."

486

A CHAPTER OF WONDERS.

" What is that you said about the bona-fide Dantree's pict-
ure ? I would like to see it if you can procure it. Who has it ? "

don't know that anyone has it, but I fancy my sister
may ? "

" Your sister ! "

"Yes — Rose. Your lordship will recollect she's from New
Orleans, and I am aware she knows this Dantree. She did
not speak of it — it was not necessary ; and his acquaintance,
as he turned out here, was hardly a thing to boast of. It
still wants a few minutes of eleven," he ])ulled out his watch.
" She may not have retired. I'll run up to her room, if you
like, and ascertain."

Lord Ruysland signified his wish, and the chasseur ran,
three steps at a time, u^^ the broad, low stairs. He tapped at
his sister's door.

''It is I, Rose," he said. "If you are up, let me in."

The door opened immediately — Rose, in a white dressing-
gown, brushing out her long, dark hair, stood before him.

" What is it ? " she asked.

'•'I forgot to ask you, when I promised to hunt up this
fellow Dantree, if you had any portrait of. him. Of course it
is necessary to know what he is like, and no description is
equal to a likeness. Have you one ? "

She bent her head and moved away to her writing-case.
Out of one of the drawers she procured a card picture
wrapped in silver paper. She placed it in her brother's hand.

It is — it was a most excellent likeness. Any one who
ever saw him once would recognize it. Redmond, have you
heard — is there any news of — " Her voice died away.

" I will tell you in a day or two. I have reason to think he
is not dead. As yet of course I know nothing positively. In
any case you are safe from him. Rose."

He was looking at the picture as he spoke. A photograph
softly tinted — finely executed. In all its brilliant heaiite du
diable the fatal face that had wrecked the lives of Marie De
Lansac and Katherine Dangerfield looked up at him from the
card — the pictured eyes alight — the square-cut, perfect mouth
half-smiling — faultless almost as the face of the Apollo. As he
looked, O'Donnell for the first time could understand and
almost forgive his sister's folly.

"A rarely perfect face," he thought, "a face to make a fool
of any woman. And to think the end of all his brilliance, all
his beauty, should be — Bracken Hollow."

THE LAST LINK.

487

He left his sister, rejoined the earl, now pacing to and fro
the library. In the past twenty years of his life Lord Ruys-
land had never been fully aroused from his supineness before —
never entered heart and soul into anything as he was entering
into the hunting down of this young woman. He paused and
looked at the vignette.

"It is as I fancied," O'Donnell said. Rose has his pict-
ure. No doubt he favored all the young ladies of his acquaint-
ance with his handsome face. Here — look and tell me if his
is the face you saw ? "

Under his outward carelessness his pulses were throbbing
with feverish fear. He handed the earl the picture. The
next instant he was aroused as the earl uttered a cry of recog-
nition.

" I knew I was right ! " he said, in a voice of suppressed in-
tensity. " This is the face I saw at the window — the face of
old Hannah's visitor — younger, handsomer, but the same.
This picture makes that much clear, at least — Gaston Dantree
is the idiot of Bracken Hollow."

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LAST LINK.

HE late Parliamentary train rushing into the Castle-
ford station some time after nine on the evening of
this same eighth of August, brought among its passen-
gers a Httle woman, dressed in black silk, wearing a
Paisley shawl and a close black veil. The black silk was
shabby, the Paisley shawl bore marks of age and wear, the
little straw bonnet was last season's shape, and two words
accurately describe the little woman tripping along the station
■ — shabby genteel. She entered the ladies' waiting-room, her
veil still over her face, leaving no feature discernible save the
hard, bright glitter of the black eyes. She glanced around with
a half-eager, half-frightened air, but no creature was visible save
herself

"I thought — I thought he might be here," she said, in a
whisper under her veil. " I feel afraid to-night — I don't know

488

THE LAST LINK,

of what — I have had the feeling since I got the letter first.
What if it should be a trap — and yet how can it ? Who knows
— who v/ould take the trouble ? If I only dare inquire."

She stood in the middle of the room irresolute, went forward,
came back, stood still again, undecided,

I don't know what ails me to-night," she muttered. I feel
as though I were going to die or — or something terrible about
to happen. Is it a presentiment ? Lord Ruysland is here —
she is here. My little one — mine — the only creature on earth
that belongs to me. If I could only see her — if I thought
Lionel meant what he says. It seems far too good to be true —
it is like a dream."

She drew from the bosom of her dress a letter, and looked
at the envelope and superscription. It was postmarked
Castleford and addressed :

Mme. Harriet Vavasor,

Rue de , Paris.

in a large, masculine hand. She opened it, and read for the
hundredth time its contents :

** HaPvRIET: — I am in England once more, in Castleford, on a visit to
Lord Ruysland. My wife is dead out in Quebec. After infinite trouble I
have discovered your address. Harriet, I know all— the miserable story
of my dead sister's plotting that separated us four-and-twenty years ago.
If the memory of that time has not wholly died, if you are free as I am,
come to Castleford and meet me. I enclosed o. billet de baiiqzie in case you
should need it. Do not ask for me — let no one suspect or frustrate us i/iis
time. We will meet in secret. On the night of the eighth of August, at
ten o'clock, I will be in waiting near the gate of the house known as Braci<en
Hollow. You know it, beyond doubt. When we meet I will explain every-
thing— the cause of this secrecy, why I have selected that particular spot,
how I discovered your identity with the Mrs. Vavasor, who six years ago
visited Sir John Dangerfield, Only come. I long for you as ardently as
I did four-and-twenty years ago. You would not have failed me the7i ; do
not fail now.

*' Lionel Cardanell."

She read this singular epistle over word for word, then folded
and replaced it in her dress.

" If I only dare ask," she muttered again. But if I obey
him in one thing I obey him in all. And it must be all right.
Who is there alive that knowS' — who would take the trouble to
delude me ? To think — to think, after all these years, I shall
stand face to face with him again. His wife dead — he free.
And I — if he should discover the hideous story of the past, my

THE LAST LINK,

489

past — all my crime — all my wrong-doing, the story of my life
revenge."

The station clock struck sharply the quarter past nine. It
aroused her ; there was no time to spare. She walked reso-
lutely out of the waiting-room — a fly stood near. She beckoned
to the driver to approach.

" You know Bracken Hollow ? "
Surely, ma'am," looking suspiciously at the veiled face;

a main and lonesome j^lace it be."

" I want to go there — at least to within a quarter of a mile
or so. I will pay you now ; how much ? "

The flyman named his price. She counted it into his palm,
and took her seat. In a moment they were rattling through
Castleford High street on their way. She looked about her ;
how familiar it all was ; the shops she knew so well — the Silver
Rose wiiere she had stopped, the cottage of Henry Otis, and
(she shuddered as she looked at it) the lonely churchyard with
its lonely grave. Poor Katherine Dangerfield ! And Gaston
Dan tree — what had become of him ? "

*' It's a story 1 hate to think of," she thought. " That dead
girl's face rises before me nights when I can't sleep — white and
still as I saw her in her wedding-dress. And Gaston Dantree
— I see him in my dreams as I saw him that night, all bruised
and bleeding at the foot of the stairs. All dead, and through
me. I wish I had been satisfied with my first revenge — when
I gave the earl the wrong child. I wish I had let Katherine
marry Dantree and live. It's a horrible thing to have a dead
face haunt one's dreams."

They left the town behind and took the quiet lane leading to
Bracken Hollow. The night was close — dark, moonless, star-
less ; the trees loomed up black on every hand ; no living thing
was to be seen. That chill feeling of vague fear increased — it
was all so strange, so unreal. Why had he come back ? Why
had he chosen this desolate spot ? What was to come of it all ?
She shivered in the still warmth of the night and wrapped her
shawl closer around her. The driver suddenly stopped.

''Bracken Hollow be yonder," he said, pointing with his
whip. "Keep straight on— there's no mistaking it; it's not
twenty yards from this."

He helped her to descend, then remounted, turned his horse,
and went jolting back toward the town.

She stood in the darkness in the middle of the lane, where
he had left her, feeling as lost as a shipwrecked sailor on a
31*

490

THE LAST LINK.

desert island. She stood watching him until the last sound of
the wheels died away. Then she reluctantly turned and looked
before her.

Darkness everywhere — black trees — blacker sky — dead
silence. She walked slowly on.

The gate of Bracken Hollow. Why, she murmured again —
why, of all the lonesome places on earth, had he chosen this ?

" It looks like the place for a murder," she thought, glancing
fearfully around. " If some one should start out from these
trees — some gypsy — or poacher — or — "

A cry broke from her ; she started back. A tall figure had
stepped out from under the black trees.

''^ Harriet a voice said, "is it you?"

" Lionel Cardanell — yes. Then you have come ! I feared
you would not J you sent no answer. And after all those years,
Harriet, we stand face to face again ? "

Face to face, perhaps, but, in the deep darkness, the face of
neither to be seen. Her heart was beating so fast that it
seemed to suffocate her. She could not speak.- He took both
her hands in his, and led her on.

" This way, Harriet. I made Bracken Hollow the place of
tryst because we can enter and talk undisturbed. I feared you
would not come. I might have known you better ; I might have
known that whenever or wherever / called, you would have
answered. Can you realize, Harriet, that it is I ? "

She could not, indeed. No voice within responded to his
tone or touch. That creeping sensation of fear was over her
still. He had drawn her hand within his arm, and was hurrying
her rapidly on. She looked up at him, tall above her, and
strove to recall some resemblance. She could recall none.
All was strange, vague, and unknown. She did not speak one
word ; she let herself be hurried on, breathless and palpitat-
ing.

They reached the gate ; he opened it. The house loomed
up, all darkness and silent amid its funeral trees. At sight of
it she suddenly stopped.
i "I ca7it goon!" she gasped — ''I can't enter there! It
looks like Hades itself ! Oh, Lionel Cardanell, is this really
you?"

" Come, come, come ! " was his only answer, spoken firmly.
He hurried her forward ; she had no power or strength to
resist. The door was flung wide at their approach. Almost

THE LAST LINK,

491

before she could realize it she was in the house — in a lighted
room ; the door was closed behind her, locked and barred.

An old woman stood before her ; at her she did not look.
She turned to the man, trembling from head to foot. His coat-
collar was turned up, his slouch*ed hat pulled down ; but hidden
as his face was, she knew in an instant it was not the man she
had come to meet.

" W/io is it ?" she said, in a sort of whisper, her black eyes
gleaming fearfully through her veil.

He turned down his collar, took off his hat, and showed the
pale, set face of — Henry Otis.

"You recognize me, Mrs. Vavasor? Yes, I see you do. It
is many years since we met, but your memory is good, I know
of old. Will you not put up your veil and let us see you.
Further disguise is unnecessary."

She obeyed him. She flung back the veil and showed a face,
aged, sallow, pallid with fear — all trace of beauty gone — noth-
ing of it remaining but the wild black eyes.

" Mr. Otis," she gasped, " why have you done this ? "

" To make you. tell the truth at last," he answered. *' There
is but one way of dealing with such women as you — and
that is the dark way of deceit. Yes, I wrote you that letter
signed Lionel Cardanell. I knew that poetic idyl of your
youth, you see ; and it has succeeded better even than I
hoped. You have no idea what a task it was to hunt you up,
and then hit on a scheme to fetch you here ; but I have done
both. If you had not come to me, / should have gone to you.
Take a seat ; you look fatigued. Hannah, Mrs. Vavasor will
take a glass of wine."

She sank into the seat, her eyes fixed fearfully upon him, her
very hps trembling. Years and dissipation had told upon Mrs.
Vavasor's strong nerves.

" Why have you brought me to this place ?" she asked.

" Not to murder you — do not be afraid ; though it looks
gruesome enough for a murder, I dare say. I don't mean to
do you the least harm — to do you good indeed — to make you
tell the truth."

" The truth about what ? "

He leaned across — there was a table between them, and his
steely blue eyes seemed to cut into her very heart.

" About the children yoic changed at nurse twenty years ago.
The time has come for the truth to be made known. You gave

492

THE LAST LINK.

your daughter to the Earl of Ruysland, and you kept his. How
will you answer to God and man for that ?"

There had been a time when Mrs. Vavasor would have had
pluck enough to reply as Claverhouse replied to the same
question of the Covenanter's vfidow : "To man I can answer
well enough, and God I will take in my own hand ; " but that
time was past. She sank back in her seat, her hands over her
eyes, covv^ering, shrinking, like the guilty creature she was, before
him — not daring to meet that stern, terrible face. The strange
adventure, her nervous fear, the darkness, the solitude — all were
telling upon her as such things tell upon women.

"It was rather a hackneyed plan of vengeance" — the cold,
quiet, pitiless tones of Henry Otis went on — "taken second-
hand from one of your favorite three-vohune novels, and quite
unworthy the originality and inventive genius you have displayed
in later years. You make no attempt to deny it, I see ; that at
least is wise."

" I do deny it," cried Mrs. Vavasor, plucking up courage
from sheer desperation at last. "I don't know what you are
talking of. How dare you bring me here? What is the
meaning of this infamous plot? How dare you detain me in
this dreadful house? Let me go, Henry Otis, or it will be
worse for you."

She rose up and faced him — at bay — her face gray with fear,
and a hunted light in her black eyes.

" How dare you write me that letter ! — how dare you sign
that name I — how dare you bring me all the way from Paris to
— to meet — "

She stopped suddenly, covered her face with both hands, and
burst into a passion of tears — tears of rage, of fright, of disap-
pointment. The old love for the handsome, high-born lover
of her youth lived yet in her heart — that battered, world-hard-
ened heart had throbbed with the purest rapture it had felt for
years at the thought of seeing him once more ; and it was bitter
— bitter to her beyond all telling to have it end hke this.

"If there be a law to punish such treachery as this, you shall
be punished, Henry Otis, when I go free," she passionately
cried.

" ' When you go free,' " Mr. Otis repeated ; " ah, but you
are not going free ! I don't do my work in that bungling way.
As cleverly as yoti plotted to entrap Katherine Dangerlield six
years ago, so I have entrapped you to-night. Pause a moment
and think. No one — not a soul — knows you are here, and I

THE LAST LINK.

493

presume you have left no friends behind in Paris who will trou-
ble themselves greatly to make search for you. Women like
you make no friends. This house, as you have seen, is utterly
lonely and isolated — it is reputed to be haunted — no one
comes here who can possibly avoid it. And here you stay —
though it shall be weeks, months — until you make a full con-
fession. Make it to-night, and you go free — refuse, and you
are locked up until you do. Here are pen, ink, and paper —
dictate your confession and I will write it down."

She sat mute, dogged, her hands clenched, her lips shut, her
eyes glittering.

*' What do you know? " she asked, sullenly.

" Enough to send you to Newgate. That when Lord Ruys-
land came to your cottage to claim his child a year after its
mother's death, you gave him yours and kept his. You kept
the infant Lady Cecil Clive, and gave the Earl of Ruysland
John Harman's daughter. John Harman's daughter lives in
luxury at Scarswood Park to-night, and Lady Cecil Clive, the
real Lady Cecil, is — w/iere, Mrs. Harman ? Sold like a slave
to strangers in her third year — strangers who loved her, lit-
tle thanks to you. Still your vengeance against her dead
mother, who had robbed you of your lover, was not sated. On
her wedding day you came forward and told the world she was not
the daughter of Sir John Dangerfield — you took care not to tell
whose daughter she was — you robbed her of her husband, home,
and name — you killed her as surely as ever murderess killed
her victim. That is what I know. The story Lord Ruysland shall
hear, whether or no you confess. The law of England would
force your story from you if I gave you over to it. I chose,
however, to take the law in my own hand. Out of this house
you never go alive until you have confessed."

She listened to him, her face settling, sullen and dark.

"I'll never confess. I say again I don't know what you are
talking of. I gave I^ord Ruysland his daughter — mine died.
The child Sir John Dangerfield adopted was my — my cousin's
daughter ; I had an old grudge against her mother. I say again,
Henry Otis, let me go, or it will be worse for you. Threats and
illegal punishment are Newgate matters, if it comes to that.
Let me go, or I'll — "

What Mrs. Vavasor meant to do Henry Otis was never des-
tined to hear. The words seemed to freeze upon her lips — her
face slowly blanched to the ashen hue of death — her eyes di-
lated with some great horror. Henry Otis followed her glance.

494

THE LAST LINK,

Old Hannah had quitted the room unobserved some seconds
before, leaving the door ajar. Through this door, without
sound of any kind, a figure had gUded. It stood now just
within the doorway, perfectly still, its eyes fixed on vacancy.
It wore a dress of some white summery stuff, its long, loose
hair fell over its shoulders, its face was perfectly white, its eyes
cold and fixed, its arms hung loose by its side.

So, as in years past she had a hundred times seen Katherine '
Dangerfield living, she saw her once more to-night dead. Dead
surely — and this was her ghost.

She uttered no cry, no sound. Slowly, step by step, she re-
coiled, that utter horror on her face, her eyes fixed on the mo-
tionless figure, until the wall barred her progress.

Look / she whispered, in an awful voice. Lookl'^
Look where?" Henry Otis repeated, stoically. "I don't
see anything."

" At the door ! " still in the same awful whisper — " see — it is
— Katherine Dangerfield ! Look ! "

"Well," Mr. Otis responded testily, I am looking and I
don't see anything. You're dreaming, Mrs. Vavasor. Kathe-
rine Dangerfield is in Castleford churchyard, is she not ? She
can't be at Bracken Hollow. Come ! look at me, and leave off
staring in that ghastly way at nothing,"

She turned her eyes slowly upon him for an instant, then
they moved back as if beyond all control of hers to the door.
The specter had vanished. And Mrs. Vavasor, with a gasping
cry, fell down fainting in a heap.

"Artistically done. You're the most useful of ghosts, Kath-
erine," Mr. Otis cried, springing up. " Come in, pray, and fetch
salts and cold water. I think she'll need no urging to tell
now."

Miss Herncastle came forward, a smile on her face — the salts
in her hand.

" I don't think she will. It was quite as much as 1 could do
to preserve my gravity, standing stock still there under her
horrified gaze. I am afraid I should have laughed outright, and
spoiled the tableau if you had not called her attention off. Yes,
1 think we shall have the truth now."

" You had better go — she is coming round," said Mr. Otis, as
the widow's eyelids fluttered ; "vanish, Katherine, and send
Hannah here. You'll hear all in the passage."

Hannah re-entered — Miss Herncastle disappeared. Mrs.
Vavasor's black eyes opened to the light. She started up —

THE LAST LINK.

495

memory returning with consciousness — and grasped the arm of
Henry Otis.

Has she gone ? " Her eyes went wildly to the door. Yes,
I tell you I saw her — Katherine — as plainly as I ever saw her
in my life. Mr. Otis, for God's sake take me away — don't leave
me or I shall go raving mad."

" I shall take you away, and I shall not leave you a moment
alone, if you will speak the truth."

''Yes — yes, I will. I'll do anything — tell anything, only
stay with me for the love of Heaven. 1 would rather die than
see her again."

She cowered down into her chair, her face hidden in her
hands, and in a sort of gasping whisper told her story.

" I confess it all," Mrs. Vavasor began ; " I don't know how
you have found it out, but it is true, every word. I did change
the children. I hated the Countess of Ruysland ; but for her
I. would have been Lionel Cardan ell's wife. I married John
Harman, but I despised him. Poor, weak fool, I was glad
when he died. She gave me money, she gave me presents,
and I took them all, and hated her more every day. She
wasn't happy with her husband — that was some comfort. She
was jealous — she had a furious temper; Katherine inherited
it, you may remember." She shivered as she pronounced the
name. " My baby was a month old the night she ran away
from the earl in a fit of fury and came to me. I didn't care
for the child ; I always disliked children ; I used to wish it
might die. It was a great deal of trouble, and I hated trouble ;
and it looked hke John Harman. Why should I care for it ?
She came to me ; she thought I had forgotten and forgiven,
and was her friend. She didn't know me, you see. That
night her baby was born — a girl, too. Next morning she was
dead. She died in my arms, in my poor cottage, without hus-
band or friend near her. That would have satisfied most
women — it didn't satisfy me. They came and took her away.
The earl told me to keep and nurse the child — who so fit as I ?
I don't believe he ever looked at it. He didn't much care for
his wife, but the manner of her death was a shock and a
scandal. They buried her, and he went away.

" It was then that the plan of changing the children occurred
to me. Some people believe the spirits in Heaven hear and
see and watch over their loved ones on earth. No doubt the
Countess of Ruysland was in Heaven — could a lady of her
rank go anywhere else ? Well, it would be a satisfaction to let

496

THE LAST LINK.

her see her daughter growing up in poverty and obscurity, and
John Harman's in rank and hixury. His lordship paid me
well ; I sold out Harman's business and left the town, where I
and the children were known. I went to live in a village some
thirty miles away, where the fraud could be carried on in
safety. I took no especial care of either of them, but they
grew and thrived in spite of that. My daughter had brown
eyes and flaxen hair, and was small and delicate-looking — much
the prettier of the two. The earl's daughter had gray eyes and
fair hair, and was large for a child of two years. She had her
mother's temper and her mother's will ; mine was one of the
gentlest creatures that ever was born; I called the Earl's
daughter Katherine. I called mine Cecil, as Lord Ruysland
had desired his daughter to be named. I was well paid, but I
grew tired to death of taking care of them and vegetating in a
stupid village. I wrote to Lord Ruysland to come for his child.

" He came, and I gave him mine. I did not let him see the
other at all ; I told him my little girl was ailing, and he took the
other away totally unsuspecting. Then I sold off everything
and went to France, taking little Kathie with me. The col-
lision in which I was badly hurt followed — the child escaped.
In the hospital Colonel Dangerfield came to see me ; he thought
I was poor, and I did not undeceive him. His only daughter
had been instantly killed — he offered to adopt little Kathie in
her stead, and I closed with the offer at once. I never saw
her again until, under the name of Mrs. Vavasor, I came to
Scarsvvood Park, and met her as Sir John's heiress.

" I solemnly swear that the young girl who was known as
Katherine Dangerfield was in reality the Lady Cecil Clive,
only child of the Earl and Countess of Ruysland. The person
who now bears that title is my daughter, christened Katherine
Harman. I will swear this in any court of law. I changed
them out of revenge upon the late Lady Ruysland.

" (Signed) Harriet Harman."

The wretched woman wrote her name, old Hannah and
Henry Otis affixed theirs as witnesses. He folded .up the doc-
ument, superscribed it Confession of Harriet Harman," and
placed it in his breast-pocket. She sat watching every motion
with terrified eyes.

" What are you going to do with it ? " she asked.

" I am going to place it in the hands of Lord Ruysland be-
tween this and to-morrow night. The rank and name your

HUNTED DOWN.

497

daughter has usurped for two-and-twenty years, shall be taken
from her before the expiration of four-and-twenty hours."

" It was no fault of hers," the guilty woman said with trem-
bling lips.

"You made Lord Ruysland's daughter pay the penalty of
her mother's actions — yours shall pay the penalty of hers.
For you," Mr. Otis arose, " Lord Ruysland shall deal with
you as he sees fit."

She started to her feet and caught him as he was turning
away.

" Take me away from this horrible house — now, at once.
You promised, you know. Do anything you like, only take
me away."

" Not to-night," he answered, coldly. " It is impossible.
You would make. your escape, and that I can't allow. Six
years ago you had your day — this is mine. The mercy you
showed Katherine Dangerfield then shall be meted out to you
now. Don't be afraid — you shall not be left alone. You
shall have a light. Hannah, take her up to the room prepared
for her, and remain with her all night."

He drew himself from her grasp, and left the room. He
heard her cry of terror and despair as he went out. Miss
Herncastle still stood in the passage. He took her hand and
led her into another room, and gave her the paper.

" The world shall know you as you are at last," he said —
" shall give you the name you should have borne from your
birth. Let me be the first to call you by it." He lifted her
hand to his lips. " Lady Cecil Clive."

CHAPTER XXVL

HUNTED DOWN.

T was very early on the morning of the ensuing day —
so early that the rosy spears of sunrise were but just
glancing through the tall firs and waving brake around
Bracken Hollow, — when a loud, authoritative knock
aroused the inmates of the lonely old house from their slumbers.
In five minutes, old Hannah was up and dressed, and in the
room of her young mistress.

498

HUNTED DOWN,

Katherine (let us call her by the old name) had sprung from
lier bed also as that authoritative knock resounded through the
house.

" It must be Henry Otis — it can be no one else at this hour.
Go open the door, Hannah, and let them in, whoever they may
be."

" But my dear — "

"There is nothing to fear, whether it be friend or foe. If
they do not come to me I shall go to them. The power is
mine now, and the victory. Before the sun sets, Harriet Har-
man's confession shall be in the hands of my Lord of Ruysland.
They shall learn, one and all, who the despised governess
whom they have turned from their doors is to their cost."

" And then ? " old Hannah said.

''Ah ! And then — ' Sufficient unto the day,' etc. Go
open the door, Hannah — there is the knock again ; and on my
word, whoever the gentleman is, he knocks commandingly."

Hannah went. She flung open the door and stood con-
fronted by a tall man, with a dark, handsome, stern-looking
face, and an unmistakably military air.

" I wish to see Miss Herncastle," this gentleman began, with
perfect abruptness; " I know that she is here."

" Who are you, sir ? " old Hannah demanded, with equal
sternness ; " and by what right do you come at such a time of
morning as this, routing decent folks out of their beds ? "

" My name is O'Donnell. I am Miss Herncastle's friend,
and I have come to do her a service while there is yet time.
Before two hours it may be too late. Give her this, I entreat
vou, and tell her I imist see her."

"He says it as though he were a king," thought old Hannah.

He looks grand enough and noble enough for any king.
O'Donnell ? Why, he's the Irish officer who found her out —
that she's most afraid of"

She stood irresolute, holding the card he had given her, and
lo<^king angrily and doubtfully from him to it.

' I don't know what you want here — what you mean by
comuig here. You're no friend of Miss Herncastle's — I know
thai. You're the man that followed her — that has been her
enemf and pursuer from the first. How dare you call yourself
her friend ? "

"I tell you," O'Donnell exclaimed impatiently, "I am her
friend ; I want to serve her if she will let me. She has ren-
dered herself amenable to the law; she is an object of suspi-

HUNTED DOWN.

499

cion ; the officers are on her track. If yoii are her friend, you
will give her that card at once."

Yes, Hannah, give it to me. I'm not afraid of Captain
O'Donnell. Let me see what he has to say."

It was Katherine herself — in slippers and dressing-gown —
her brown hair undone, rippling in the old girlish way over her
shoulders. In that white neglige, with hair unbound and its
natural color, she looked, with the rose-flush of the August sun-
rise upon her, younger, fairer, fresher than he had ever seen
her before.

She took no notice of him. She received the card from
Hannah gravely — and gravely examined it. Beneath his name
in pencil was written :

" I know that you are here. I come as your friend. If you
have any regard for yourself you will see me at once."

She looked up and held out her hand to him with a smile —
a smile that had something of the old brightness, the old saucy
defiance of Katherine" Dangerfield.

" Good-morning, Captain O'Donnell. My friends are so
few and far between at present, that it would be a thousand
pities to refuse an audience to one of them. But you my
friend ! Isn't that rather a new role for the gallant Captain of
Chasseurs ?"

She led the way into the bare-looking apartment, where last
night Harriet Harman had made her confession, and pointed
to a chair. There was a grace, a triumph about her he had
never seen before — the whole expression of her face was
changed. Where was the sad, somber face of Miss Herncastle
now.^* A sort of proud triumph lit all the face before him.

He accepted the chair only to lean across its v/ooden back
and look at her. She stood where the golden sunshine fell
fullest upon her — her tall form looking taller and more classic
than ever in her trailing white robe, a crimson cord for her
girdle. The brown hair was swept off forehead and temples,
showing the scar on the left plainly, and adding to the nobility
of her face. The black had been washed from the eyebrows —
altogether she was changed almost out of knowledge. There
was a smile on her lips, a light in her eyes, aglow on her cheeks
that transfigured her. The hour of her victory had come ;
she stood before him

"A daughter of the gods, divinely tall.

And most diviaelj' fair."

Yes, fair in this moment, if never fair before.

500

HUNTED DOWN.

*'Will Captain O'Donnell — my friend — who has hunted me
down from first to last — speak ? What is it that has taken you
out of your bed at this uncivilized hour, and brought you to
Bracken Hollow, and me ? "

The ringing tone of her voice, the meaning sparkle of eye
and smile, confounded him.

" It is so easy to be mistaken," she went on, still smiling. " I
confess among the few, the very few I count as ray friends, your
name is the last I should ever dream of adding to the list. But
then strongly marked characters have strongly original ways
of proving their likes and dislikes. Hunting me down may
be your way of proving your friendship. What is it Captain
O'Donnell has come here at six in the morning to say ?"

To say you are in danger — to say your game is up, to say
all is known — that the police are on your track, that this very
day — or to-morrow at furthest, they will be here. To warn
you for the last time."

For the last time — to warn me of what?"
To fly — I repeat, all is known — «//."

"What does all comprise ? May I ask you to explain? "

" It means that a detective has been on your track from the
hour you quitted Scarswood, that by day and night you have
been watched, that you are known as the Gaston Dantree who,
by fair means or foul, has won an enormous sum from Sir Peter
Dangerfield at cards — that the real Gaston Dantree is shut up
here at Bracken Hollow — an idiot, and has been for years. Ah,
you feel that. I repeat — all is known — all."

The smile faded from her lips, the old hard expression looked
at him out of her gray eyes.

" A detective on my track. I did not dream of that indeed.
And to whom am I indebted for that delicate attention ? To
my friend. Captain O'Donnell, of course."

" No, Miss Herncastle, not in this instance. To the Right
Honorable the Earl of Ruysland."

A shadow came over her face, a gray, somber shadow. She
sat down suddenly with an altered expression.

"The Earl of Ruysland," she repeated. "What had I
done to Jwn ? Ah, I understand — the law calls upon every
honest man to hunt down a rogue. And the Earl of Ruysland
has set a detective on my track. Is this all his noble lordship
has discovered, or is there something else ? "

" This is all he has absolutely discovered, but there is some-
thing else. He strongly suspects the death and burial of Kath

HUNTED DOWN,

501

erine Dangerfield to be bogus, and Miss Herncastle and Kath-
erine Dangerfield to be one and the same."

''Was it acting on this suspicion that you went up to London
and nearly frightened poor Mrs. Otis to death?"

" I was acting on no suspicion — I rarely act on that. I was
acting on certainty. I knew the grave in Castleford churchyard
to be a fraud — the tombstone lying even more than tombstones
usually lie. I knev/ that grave held an empty coffin."

" May I ask how ? "

" In the simplest manner possible. I employed a resur-
rectionist, and I opened the grave. We raised the coffin, opened
that, and found, as I told you — nothing."

"You did this?"

" I did this."

She sat and looked at him — wonder, not unmixed with a
species of amusement and admiration, in her face.

"And yet you call yourself my friend. Captain O'Donnell,
you're an extraordinary man."

" No ; I don't see it," he answered, coolly. " It wasn't any-
thing very extraordinary. From the hour I discovered your
identity with the New York actress my suspicions were aroused.
You had never given up the stage and buried yourself alive at
Scarswood in the capacity of governess without some powerful
latent motive. That motive I confess I felt curious to discover.
Then you made love to Sir Arthur Tregenna — I beg your par-
don— permitted him to fall in love with you^ Katherine
smiled once more. "As Sir Arthur had long before been
signed, sealed, and delivered over to Lady Cecil Clive, and he
.seemed powerless to help himself, I felt called upon to help
him. He is my friend, you know, so also is his affianced wife.
Then you played ghost — oh yes you did. Lord Ruysland saw
you — and frightened Sir Peter to the verge of insanity. Alto-
gether you were too dangerous a sort of person to be allowed
to go on without a short pull-up from some one. Destiny, I
suppose, set me on your track — I didn't care about hunting
you down, as you call it, and I gave you fair warning. You
scorned all I could say ; so, as a last resource, I went to Lon-
don to induce Mr. Otis to cast his influence into the scale.
You have proved more desperate and more dangerous than I
supposed. Sir Peter is as nearly mad as it is possible to be,
out of a straight-jacket, over his losses. For the last time I
come to warn you — you are accused of cheating at cards, of
placing a pistol at Sir Peter's head, and threatening his life."

502

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Again his listener smiled as she recalled Sir Peter's ghastly face
of fright. " It is an actionable matter to carry deadly weapons,
and threaten the lives of her Majesty's liege subjects. Then
yon have worn male, attire — you have secreted a dangerous
lunatic, to the terror of the neighborhood ; in short, the list of
your evil deeds is appalling. The police of Castleford, armed
with a search-warrant, will be here to-day or to-morrow at the
furthest to search the premises — you will be arrested, impris-
oned, and tried. Miss Herncastle, Miss Dangerfield, — I beg of
you avoid this. Fly while there is yet time, and save your-
self"

She looked at him searchingly — earnestly. " Captain
O'Donnell, I wonder why — I cannot understand why you should
ta.ke the trouble to come here and say this. You dislike me
with a cordiality there is no mistaking — you have shown me
very little quarter hitherto; what object have you in all this?
Why should you endeavor to save a woman you hold in aver-
sion and contempt ? a woman, in short, whom you hate?"

" Whom I hate ! " he repeated quietly. " Since when have
I told you I haced you ? I do not hate you — very far from it ;
and if I held you in aversion and contempt I certainly should
7iot take the trouble of coming here to warn you. I have heard
Katherine Dangerfield's story — a strange, sad story ; and I be-
lieve her, even in this hour, to be more sinned against than
sinning. She has made one great mistake — she has taken
retribution in her own weak hand — she has forgotten who has said
* Vengeance is mine ; I will repay ! ' I believe a great and
generous nature has been warped. Commonplace women
would have sunk under the blow ; being a woman of genius she
has risen and battled desperately with fate. And when a
woman does that she fails ; she must stoop to cunning, to plot-
ling, to guilt. Katherine Dangerfield, I pity you — from my soul
I do ; and with my whole heart I stand before you your friend.
It is not too late yet ; pause, while there is yet time, on the
road you are treading, and go back."

There was no mistaking his earnestness, the generous glow
of his face, the friendly warmth of his tone. She had turned
away from him and was looking out at the golden morning sky.

" Go back ! " she repeated bitterly. " Is there ever any go-
ing back in this world ? Six years ago I might have listened ;
to-day it is too late."

" It is never too late while life remains. It is only the turn-
ing point in your destiny. As yet you have been guilty only of

HUNTED DOWN-.

follies — not of criaies. Katherine " — her face flushed all over
as he pronounced the name. She turned to him a sudden, sur-
prised, grateful glance. " Katherine," he held out his hand,
" for what I have said and done in the past forgive me. Let
me be your friend, your brother, from this hour. I pity you, I
admire you. You have been wonderfully brave and clever.
Lay down your arms — give up the fight. Which of us can bat-
tle against Fate ? Give me your hand — give me your promise.
I cannot, I will not leave you until you do."

She covered her face with her hands, her breast heaving, the
color burning in her face, moved to the very depths of her soul,
with a passion of which he did not dream.

" I am taking Rose to France," he continued, coming
nearer, his voice wonderfully gentle. " Come with us — you
will be safe there. You have been sa'dly wronged, I know;
but life deals hardly with us all. You know my sister's story
— you know how her youth has been wrecked by the same
hand that blighted yours. Let that be a bond of sympathy be-
tween you. Come with us to Prance ; the friend to whom
Rose goes will also shelter you. She means to work for her
living, teaching in a French school ; drudgery, perhaps, but she
insists upon it, and I think myself labor is an antidote to heart-
break. Come, Katherine — you have fought long and well,
and nothing has conre of it. Give it up and come with Rose."

Her hands dropped from her face ; something in the last
words seemed to rouse her. She looked at him steadily.

"And nothing has come of it?" she repeated. "That is
your mistake. Captain O'Donnell. Something has come of it.
I wonder what you would say if I told you— what ? "

" Tell me and see."

" I confess," she went on, " to all the crimes laid to my
charge. I am Katherine Dangerfield ; I have been buried and
risen from the dead, and with that resurrection my nature
seemed to change. I have brooded on one subject — my
wrongs — until I believe my brain has turned. I fled from the
house of my true and loyal friend, Henry Otis, and went to
America. I became the New York actress you so cleverly rec-
ognized. From New York I wrote to Mr. Otis. I told him if
Gaston Dantree died, to bury him decently — if he lived, to fur-
nish him with money to quit England ; if he lived, and reason
did not return, as he feared, to send him to Bracken Hollow
— not to an asylum. I wanted him cared for ; I had heard
horrible stories of insane asylums. I knew Hannah would be

504

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good to him for my sake. When all hope was at an end, Mr.
Otis obeyed, and for nearly five years poor Gaston Dantree
has been the ghost of Bracken Hollow. As a rule he is quiet
and harmless, but there are times when his cries are terrible,
when he tries to escape from his room. He has to be watched
unceasingly. All these years I remained in the New World I
worked hard in my profession, and rose. I made money and I
hoarded it like a miser. Day and night, stronger and stronger
with each year grew the determination to return, to keep my
vow. I tell you I believe there were times when I was insane
on this subject. Death alone could have held me back. I
waited patiently while burning with impatience ; I worked ; I
hoarded, and at last my day came. I returned to England ; I
made my way into the family of Sir Peter Dangerfield ; my re-
venge had begun.

"That, as you know, is not many weeks ago. It was a los-
ing game from the first — I was playing to lose. I knew my se-
cret could not remain undiscovered, but I dared all. Fate had
taken my part in one way. I had a double motive in returning
— one, my vengeance on him ; the other, to discover my par-
entage. I had a clue ; and strange to say, in working out one
I was working out the other. You know what followed — I
played ghost — Lord Ruysland was right — and terrified the
master of Scarswood as I think he was never terrified before.
I paid midnight visits to Bracken Hollow ; I dared not go in
the daytime. You remember all about that, no doubt. There
was an unused entrance by which I came in and out. Lady
Dangerfield tyrannized over and insulted me from the first ; I
have rewarded /z^r, I think. And I have personated Gaston
Dantree, and won Sir Peter's idolized gold. Why I perso-
nated Dantree 1 hardly know. Sir Peter was too blind to recog-
nize me, and the whim seized me. How long I might have
gone on, how it would have ended but for your recognition of
me — your suspicion and discoveries, I don't know. I owe you
no grudge ; you were doing your duty, and I honor you for it.
For Sir Arthur, you need not have been so much afraid ; it was
a triumph to take him from Lady Cecil — to anger Lady Dan-
gerfield; but bad as I am, I don't think I ever was base
enough to marry him, even if he had asked me. He had never
wronged me, and I only waged war with those who did."

You waged war with Lady Cecil Clive, in taking her lover
from her, and she certainly never wronged you. She was your
friend through all."

HUNTED DOWN.

SOS

The hard look came over her face once more, a hard light
in her large eyes.

*'Was she? In your eyes, of course, Lady Cecil can do no
evil. But what if I told you she had done me the deepest, the
deadliest wrong of all ?"

He looked at her in surprise.

''I don't understand," he said, a little coldly. "I believe
Lady Cecil to be incapable of willfully wronging any one. And
she always spoke gently of you."

She leaned her forehead on her hands, and pushed back her
hair with a long, tired sigh.

What a mockery, what a satire it all is — the world and the
people in it ! We are all sinners, but I wonder what I have
done, that my hfe should be so accursed ! Redmond O'Doiv
nell, this morning I felt almost happy — a fierce, triumphal sort
of happiness — I had fought a long, bitter battle, but the victory
was with me at last. Now, if I could lie down here and die,
I should ask no greater boon. My life has been from first to
last a dreary, miserable failure. Oh, God ! I want to do
right. My life has been bitter, bitter, bitter, and I feel as
though I were steeped in crime to the lips. If I could only
die and end it all ! But death passes the guilty and miserable
by, and takes the happy and the good."

Her folded arms were lying on the table, her head fell for-
ward on them as though she never cared to lift it again. From
first to last she had been a creature impulse, swayed by a
passionate, undisciplined heart — a ship adrift on a dark sea,
without rudder or compass.

There have been days in my life — in the years that are
gone — ay, in the weeks that I have spent yonder at Scarswood
— when I have held the laudanum in my hand, to my lips, that
would have ended it all. But I did not dare die- — such wretches
as I don't. It was not death I feared — but what comes after.
Captain O'Donnell," she lifted her haggard eyes and looked at
him, and to the last day of his life the hopeless despair of that
face — the ho])eless pathos of that voice haunted him, "what
must you think of me ? What a lost, degraded creature I must
be in your sight."

He took both her hands in his, a compassion such as he had
never felt for any human being before stirring his heart.

"What am I that I should judge? And if I thought so,
would I ask you to be the companion, the sister of my sister ?
there is nothing but pity for you in my heart — nothing. Give

5o6

HUNTED DOWN.

up this dark and dangerous life, and be true to yourself — to the
noble nature Heaven has given you, once more."

She rose up — her hand still in his, a sort of inspiration shin- ■
ing in her face.

" I will ! " she answered. You- — whom I thought my
enemy, shall save me. I renounce it — the plotting — the evil —
the revenge. And for your sake — for the love you bear her, I
will spare herT

He looked at her in mute inquiry. She smiled, drcAv away
her hands, and resumed her seat.

"You do not understand. See here, Captain O'Donnell, I
told you, did I not, my second object in returning to England
was to discover my parentage ? Well, I have discovered it."

" You have ! " he cried, breathlessly.

" I have discovered it. My father lives, and the daughter
of my nurse occupies my place in his heart, the name I should
bear. It is a very old story — changed at nurse — and that nurse
has confessed all."

" You have done this. Then I congratulate you indeed !
You will go to your father at once, of course ! No one, believe
me, can rejoice at this more sincerely than I."

" You mistake. I will never go. This morning I had in-
tended— but that is all past now. If I renounce my revenge
and wrong-doing in one way, I renounce it in all. I never
understood half measures."

" But there is wrong-doing here — it is right — it is your duty
logo."

" Captain O'Donnell, don't you see another is in my place ?
My going would bring shame, and disgrace, and nusery upon
her. My father is a very proud man — would it add to his pride
or happiness to acknowledge such a daughter as I ? "

" All that has nothing to do with it," the chasseur answered,
with his stubborn sense of right and wrong. " Your duty is to
go to your father, and tell him the truth at any cost to his pride
or yours."

She smiled.

*' I wonder if this >vould be your advice if — if, for example
only — my father were the Earl of Ruysland. (I name him, you
understand, as the first I think of.) Suppose I went to him
and said, ' My lord, I, Katherine Dangerfield — Helen Hern-
castle — Gaston Dantree — any alias you please — am your
daughter; she whom you call Lady Cecil CHve is but the
daughter of your former servant, my nurse. She hated your

HUNTED DOWN.

507

dead wife, my mother, and when you came to claim your cliild
she gave you hers.' Suppose I said this — suppose I could
prove it — what then ? Would the earl clasp me to his bosom
in a gush of parental love ? Would Lady Cecil get down from
her pedestal of birth and rank and let me mount ? Think of
the earl's shame and pain — her suffering — Sir Arthur Tregenna's
humiliation ; think how much happiness I, the usurper, enjoy.
Bring the case home, and tell me still, if you can — to go."

"I tell you still to go. Right is right. Though the Earl of
Ruysland were your father, though Lady Cecil had usurped your
place, I should still say, go — tell the truth,. be the cost what it
may."

" You, who love Lady Cecil, give me this advice ? Captain
O'Donnell, you don't love her."

I love her so well that I leave her ; I love her so well that
if the thing you speak of were possible, I would be the first to
go and tell her. Once again — in the face of all that may fol-
low— I repeat, go I Tell the truth, take the place and name
that are yours, and let me help you if I can."

But still she sat keeping that strange, wistful, searching gaze
on his face.

" You love her so well that you leave her," she repeated,
dreamily; "you leave her because she is an earl's daughter,
and you think above you. If you knew her to be poor — poor
and low born — "

" I would still leave her. It would make no difference.
Poor or rich, gentle or simple, who am I that I should marry a
wife ? My soldier's life in camp and desert does well enough
for me. How would I do, think you, for one brought up as
Lady Cecil Clive has been ? I can rough it well enough — the
life suits me ; but I shall never care to see my wife rough it
also. Let us pass all that — I don't care to talk of myself.
Lady Cecil Clive is not for me — any more than one of her
Majesty's daughters. Let us speak only of you."

She rose up with a strange, unfathomable smile, crossed the
room without a word, lit a candle and placed it on the table
before him. He watched her in silent surprise. She drew from
her pocket a folded paper, and handed it to him.

" You have done greater service than you dream of in com-
ing here," she said. " Do one last favor. I want this paper
destroyed. I have a whimsical fancy to see you do it. Hold
it to the candle and let it burn."

He took it doubtfully. He read the superscription — " Coti-

5o8

HUNTED DOWN.

fession of Harriet Harman^^ and hesitated. "I don't know —
why should I ? What is this ? "

" Nothing that concerns any one on earth but myself. You
will be doing a good deed, I believe, in destroying it. Let me
see you burn it. / can do it, of course ; but as I said, I have
a fancy that yours should be the hand to destroy it. Burn it,
Captain O'Donnell,"

Still wondering— still doubting — ^lie obeyed. Held the paper
in the flame of the candle until it dropped in a charred cloud
on the table. Then she held out her hand to him with a brave
bright smile.

" Once more I thank you. You have done me a great ser-
vice. You have saved me from myself. When do you and
your sister leave ? "

" To-day ; but if I can aid you in any way — if I can take
you to your father — ^"

" You are ready to do it I know ; but I have not quite made
up my mind about that yet. It is not a thing to be done in a
hurry. Give me a few hours. Come back if you will before
you depart, and if you "have any influence with the Earl of
Ruysland, don't let him send that search-warrant to-day. Let
us say good-by, and part for the present."

He stood and looked at her doubtfully. He felt vaguely
that never had he been farther from understanding her than at
this moment.

"I will come," he said, "and I hope — I trust by that time
you will have made up your mind to return to your father, and
• — if Rose wishes it — may I bring her to see Jihn ? "

" Certainly — he will not know her — poor fellow. He knows
nobody. Farewell, Redmond O'Donnell, — my friend."

There was a lingering tenderness in her voice, in her eyes,
that might have told him her secret. But men are totally blind
sometimes. He saw nothing. He grasped her hand. " Not
farewell," he said : '^au revoir."

She went with him to the door. She watched him with wist-
ful eyes out of sight.

" Farewell," she said, softly ; " farewell forever. If Henry
Otis had been to me what you are, six years ago I harl been
saved."

THAT NIGHT,

509

CHAPTER XXVII.

THAT NIGHT.

HREE hours later, and Redmond and Rose O'Donnell
had quitted Scarswood Park forever. The last fare-
wells had been said — to Lady Dangerfield, weeping
feebly, not so much at their loss as over the general
distress and misery that was falling upon the place, the dread
of her own fortune. To Lady Cecil, cold, and white, and still,
giving her parting kiss to the sister- — her parting hand-clasp
and look to the brother. " Farewell forever, my love — my love
— who loved me once," that long, wistful, hopeless glance said.
To Lord Ruysland, politely affable and full of regrets to the
last.

Confound Mrs. Everleigh and her masquerade ball, and
doubly, trebly confound Miss Herncastle for persuading Ginevra
to go. The only consolation is we'll have her on the hip before
night falls."

"And even that consolation I must ask your lordship to
forego," O'Donnell said, with a half smile, "/have been to
see Miss Herncastle. And there is no need of that search-
warrant, my lord. I believe you are at liberty to enter and go
through Bracken Hollow as freely as you please — if you only
wait until to-morrow."

"My good fellow, do you know what you are saying? Wait !
with such an arch-traitress as that ! Wait ! give her time to
make her escape, and carry off her victim — her prisoner, who-
ever it may be, and start life luxuriously in London or Paris,
under a new alias^ and with poor Sir Peter's money. My dear
O'Donnell, you're a sensible fellow enough in the main, but
don't you think this last suggestion of yours betrays slight
symptoms of softening of the brain ? "

"My lord — no. You see I know Miss Herncastle's story
and you don't — that makes the difference."

" Gad ! " his lordship responded, " I am not sure that I care
to know any more than I do. If her previous history be in
keeping with its sequel here, it must be an edifying autobio-
graphy. Is her name Herncastle, or what ? "

" Her name is not Herncastle. I do not know what it is.
I believe she does not know herself. My lord, she is greatly
to be pitied ; she has gone wrong, but circumstances havQ

THAT NIGHT,

driven her wrong. The bitter cynic who defines virtue as only
the absence of temptation was right, as cynics very generally
are. In her place I believe I would have done as she has done
■ — a}^ worse. Life has dealt hardly with her — hardly — hardly.
/ tell you so ; and to lean too greatly to the side of pity for
the erring is not my weakness. Gaston Dantree is the ghost
and prisoner of Bracken Hollow. She has confessed ; but I
believe he is well and kindly treated ; and if, instead of caring
for him there, she had left him to die Kke a dog in a ditch, she
would only have given him his deserts. She has taken (fairly
or unfairly, as you will — I don't know) a large sum of money
from Sir Peter Dangerfield ; but I say there too she has served
him right. In her place I would have taken every farthing if I
could. She has done wrong in the matter of the ball, but even
then, treated as I^ady Dangerfield daily treated her, I don't say
I would not have done the same. From first to last I maintain
Miss Herncastle has been more sinned against than sinning,
and so your lordship would acknowledge if you knew all."

His eyes were flashing, his dark face flushed with an earnest-
ness that rarely broke through the indolent calm of long habit
and training. His lordship stood and stared at him aghast.

" Good Heaven ! " he said, " what rhodomontade is this ?
Is the woman a witch ? and have you fallen under her spells at
last ? And I would acknowledge all this if I knew all. Then,
my dear fellow, in the name of common-sense tell me all, for
I'll be hanged if I can make top or tail of this. Who, in
Heaven's name, is this greatly wronged — much-to-be-pitied
Miss Herncastle?"

"Perhaps I ought to tell you — and yet it is such a mar-
velous story — ^"

"Egad! I know that beforehand; everything connected
with this extraordinary young woman is marvelous. Whatever
it is, it cannot be much more marvelous than what has gone
before."

" My lord," O'Donnell said, hastily, I see my sister waiting,
and I have no time to spare. Here is a proposal : don't go
near Bracken Hollow until to-morrow, until you have heard
from me. Before I leave Castleford I will find time to write
you the whole thing ; I really don't care to tell it, and when
you have read her story, I believe I only do you justice in say-
ing you will let Miss Herncastle alone. I have reason to
think she will leave Castleford to-day with my sister and me —
that she will share Rose's asylum in France, and that all her

THAT NIGHT.

evil doings are at an end. To-night you shall have my letter —
to-morrow do as you please. Once more, my lord, farewell."

He lifted his hat and sprang down the steps to where Rose
sat in the basket-carriage awaiting him. Once he glanced
back — he half smiled to see his lordship standing petrified
where he had left liim. He glanced up at a particular window.
A face, that dead and in its coffin would never look whiter,
watched him there. He waved his hand — the ponies flung up
their heads and dashed down the avenue ; in a moment Scars-
wood lay behind them like a place in a dream.

There was not one word spoken all the way. Once Rose,
about to speak, had glanced at her brother's face, and the
words died on his lips. Did he love Lady Cecil after all — had
he loved her vainly for years ?

They went to the Silver Rose. Miss O'Donnell had her
former room, and there, wrenching himself from the bitterness
and pain of his own loss, he told her the story of Gaston Dan-
tree.

" If you would like to see him, now is your time," he said.

I am going to Bracken Hollow. You can come if you like."

She listened in pale amaze, shrinking and trembling as she
heard. An idiot for life ! At the horror of that fate all her
wrongs paled into insignificance — what awful retribution was
here ? She rose up ashen gray with pity and horror, but tear-
less and quiet.

" I will go," she answered.

He procured a fly, and they started at once. Again it was a
very silent drive. Redmond O'Donnell forced his thoughts
from his own troubles ; brooding on hopeless loss of any kind
was not his nature, and thought of Katherine. He almost won-
dered at himself at the pity he felt for her — at the sort of ad-
miration and affection she had inspired him with. How brave
she was, how resolute, how patient ; what wonderful self-com-
mand was hers. What elements for a noble and beautiful life,
warped and gone wrong. But it was not yet too late ; the
courage, the generosity, the nobility within her would work for
good from henceforth. He would take her to France, her bet-
ter nature would assert itself. She would one day become one
of these exceptionally great women whom the world delights
to honor. She — he paused. They had drawn up at the gate,
and standing there with folded arms, with rigidly compressed
lips, with eyes that looked like gleaming steel, stood Henry
Otis.

512

THAT NIGHT,

The - Algerian soldier knew him at once, and knew the in-
stant he saw iiim something had gone wrong. As he advanced
with his sister Mr. Otis flung open the gate, took off his hat to
the sister, and abruptly addressed the brother.

" I have the honor of speaking to Captain Redmond O'Don-
nell ? " \

"I am Captain O'Donnell, Mr. Otis," was the calm answer.
*'I come here with my sister by Miss Herncastle's permission."

" I inferred that. This is your second visit to-day ?"
My second visit," O'Donnell added, secretly wondering
why the man should assume that belligerent attitude and angry
tone. " 1 trust Miss Herncastle is here ? I came, expecting
to meet her."

" Miss Herncastle is not here I " Otis replied, his eyes glanc-
ing their irate steely fire j " she has gone."
''Gone!"

" Gone — fled — run away. That would not surprise me ; but
this does." He struck angrily an open letter he held. " Captain
O'Donnell, what have you been saying to her — what influence
diO you possess over her that she should resign the triumph of her
life, in the hour of its fulfillment, for you ? By what right do
you presume to come here, and meddle with what in no way
concerns you ? "

Redmond O'Donnell stood and looked at him, his straight
black brows contracting, his voice sinking to a tone ominously
low and calm.

" Rose," he said, " step in here and wait until I rejoin you."
She obeyed with a startled look. " Now then, Mr. Otis, let us
understand one another ; I don't comprehend one word you
are saying, but I do comprehend that you have taken a most
disagreeable tone. Be kind enough to change it to one a little
less aggressive, and to make your meaning a little more clear."

"You don't understand?" Otis repeated, still with sup-
pressed anger. " Have you not been the one to counsel her
to renounce the aim of her life, to resign her birthright because,
forsooth, the woman who has usurped it is your friend ? Have
you not been the one to urge this flight — to compel this renun-
ciation ? "

" My good fellow," O'Donnell cried impatiently, "if you in-
tend to talk Greek, talk it, but don't expect me to understand.
And I never was clever at guessing riddles. If Miss Herncastle
has run away, I am sincerely sorry to hear it — it is news to me.
What you mean about renouncing her birthright and all that,

THAT NIGHT,

yoit may know — I don't. I urged her to give up the hfe of false-
hood and deception she has been leading lately for one more
worthy of her, and I understood her to say she would. The
influence I possess over her is only the influence any true friend
might possess. Farther than that, if you want me to know
what you are talking about, you will be kind enough to explain."

And Henry Otis, looking into the dark, gravely haughty face,
knew that he spoke the truth. He handed him the letter.

" It is from her," he said, ^' to me. Read it."

O'Donnell obeyed. It bore date that day, and was signifi- ,
cantly brief.

" Henry— MY Brother ; You will be surprised — pained, angered, it may
be — when I tell you I am going, and coming back no more. I give it all up — ■
all the plotting, the weary, wicked, endless scheming that brought revenge
perhaps, but never happiness. And the confession is burned ! They shall
never know — neither my father, nor she who has taken my place unwittingly,
shall ever be rendered miserable by the truth. I can remember now that
she at least was ever gentle and sweet to me. If I told them to-morrow,
I could not, would not take her place ; my father would never care for me
— would look upon me as a shame and disgrace. Let it go with all the
rest. Captain O'Donnell has proven himself my friend ; for his sake I re-
nounce my cherished vengeance. Let the miserable woman we have lured
here go. Care for poor Gaston as you have always cared. Do not follow
me ; when happier days come I will go to you. Do not fear for me ;
I will not return to the stage ; I shall live honestly and uprightly for the
time that is to come, God helping me. Sir Peter Dangerfield's money is in
Hannah's keeping ; restore it to him ; I would die sooner than use it. Tell
Captain O'Donnell that while I thank him — thank him with all my heart and
soul — I still cannot go with him. For my own sake I cannot. He has
been my salvation ; to my dying day his memory and yours will be the
dearest in my heart. Dear Henry, my best friend, my dearest brother,
farewell ! I have been a trouble, a distress to you, from the first ; this last
flight will trouble and distress you most of all j but it is for the best — the
rest never were. — Farewell I ' Katherine."

Redmond O'Donnell looked up) from the letter with a face
of pale wonder.

" What does she mean ? " he asked. " ' Dare not come with
^ me for her own sake ! ' What folly is this ? "
^- Henry Otis returned his glance gloomily enough. He un-
derstood, if O'Donnell did not.

" Who can comprehend a woman — least of all such a woman
as Katherine Dangerfield? But for once she shall be dis-
obeyed. For six years I have obeyed her in good and in evil ;
now I refuse to obey longer. The truth shall be told — yes, by-
Heaven ! — let their pride suffer as it may. They shall know
23*

514

THAT NIGHT.

that the girl upon whom they trampled is of their blood ! He,
with all his dignity and mightiness, shall find she is his
daughter ! "

"Who?" O'Donnell asked, with a pierceing glance. But
Henry Otis moodily drew back.

" Yonder is Hannah — ^^if you want to see the miserable
wretch hidden for five years at Bracken Hollow, you had better
go. I shall tell him, not you."

His angry jealousy flashed out in every look, in every word.
He hated this man — this dark, dashing, Irish soldier — with
his magnificent stature, his handsome, dusk face. Katherine
loved him ! Was it part of her wretched destiny always to
love men utterly indifferent to her, while he — all his life it
seemed to him he had lain his heart at her feet, and it had been
less to her than the ground she trod.

He turned away from him in a passion of wrath against her,
against the tall, haughty, amazed chasseur, against himself and
his infatuation, and dashed into the belt of gloomy woodland
that shut in the gloomy house.

" I'll tell at least ! " he thought, savagely. "I'll humble the
Earl of Ruysland ; and for her — let her resent it if she will. I
have been her puppet long enough. While she cared for no
one more, I hoped against hope, but now that she has fallen in
love with this Irish free-lance, let her go. My slavery ends
from to-day."

O'Donnell looked after him, angry in his turn — then glancing
at his watch and seeing that time was flying, he rejoined his sis-
ter waiting anxiously in the porch.

" Who is that man, Redmond ?" she asked, timidly — "were
you quarrelling ? How angry he looked ! "

" / was not quarrelHng," he answered, shortly. " Rose, we
have no time to spare. See this man if you will, and let us go.
I want to catch the five o'clock train."

Old Hannah was in waiting — she too looked gloomy and for-
bidding. Her nursling had fled — in some way this young
man had to do with it, and Hannah resented it accordingly. He
saw it and asked no questions — he felt no inclination to subject
himself to further rebuffs. Let them all go — he did not under-
stand them — he washed his hands from henceforth of the whole
affair.

Hannah in silence led the way up a dark, spiral staircase to
an upper room. She cautiously inserted a key and unlocked
the door.

THAT NIGHT,

" Make no noise," she said in a whisper ; " he's asleep."

She softly opened the door and led the way in. They fol-
lowed, Rose clinging to her brother's arm — white, trembling
from head to foot. She was led to a bed \ upon it a figure lay,
asleep, motionless. A hot mist was before her eyes ; for a mo-
ment she could not look ; then it cleared away. She strove
to command herself, and for the first time in seven years Rose
Marie Dantree looked upon her husband's face.

There was nothing revolting or terrible in the sight. As he
lay asleep all the old beauty was there — the calm, the peace.
One arm supported his head — he was neither worn nor thin —
he had changed very little. The classic profile was turned to-
ward them^ — the long, black lashes swept his cheeks, the lips
were parted in something like a smile, the gloss}^, black, curling
hair was swept off the forehead. He looked beautiful as he
liify there asleep. And over Rose's heart the old love surged
— the great wrong he had done her was forgotten — she only
remembered she had been his wife, and that he had loved her
once. Her face worked — she sank on her knees.

" Gaston ! Gaston ! " she whispered, growing ghastly.

He started in his sleep — the dark, large sunken eyes opened
and looked at her. As she met them the last trace of life left
her face — she sank backward — her brother caught her as she
fell.

" I might have known it would be too much for her," he said.
" I should never have let her come."

She was on the grass outside the gate when she recovered,
her brother bathing her forehead and holding her in his arms.
She looked up into his eyes, burst into a sudden passion of
crying, and hid her face on his breast. He was very patient
and gentle with her — he let her cry in peace. Presently he
stooped and kissed her.

" If you are ready we will go now. Rose," he said. " You
must not see him again. It can do no good — his case is hope-
less— he knows no one, and when he is disturbed he gives
trouble, the old woman says. Come, Rose, be brave — it is hard
on you, but life is hard on all of us. Since we must bear our
troubles, let us at least bear them bravely."

She went without a word. She drew her veil over her face,
and cried silently behind it. They reached the Silver Rose ;
Lanty and the Liggage were here. The luggage was ready
for the railway, but Lanty was nowhere to be seen. The
sound of voices in the courtyard, however, guided his master-—

THAT NIGHT,

Mr. Lafferty's mellifluous Northern accent was not to be
mistaken.

See now — that I may niver sin (God pardin me for swearin)
— but I'll come back to ye — an' maybe marry ye — if I don't
see anybody 1 like better. Arrah ! where' s the good av' cry in'
and screechin' in this way ? Shure me own heart's broke in-
tirely — so it is. An' thin ye can write to me when I'm away,
an' isn't that same a comfort ? Faith ! it's a beautiful hand ye
write — aquil to iver a schoolmaster in Ballynahaggart. An' ye' 11
dait yer Ictthers in this way : ' Misther Lanty I.afTerty, in care
o' the Masther. In Furrin parts.' Arrah ! hould yer noise,
an' don't be fetchin the parish down on us. Far or near,
amn't I ready to stick to ye, Shusan, through thick an' thin?
Arrah, is it doubtin' me ye are ? See now, it's the truth I'm
tellin'; that I may go to my grave feet foremost if it isn't."

Mr. Lafferty and the rosy-cheeked barmaid were ensconced
behind a tree, Lanty seated on the pump, Susan dissolved in
tears — a love-scene, undoubtedly. Susan's reply was inaudible,
but her lover might be heard by any one who chose to listen.

"Why don't I lave him, is it? Upon me conscience, thin,
it's long and many's the day ago I'd av left him wid his sodger-
in' an' his thrampin' if I cud have found iver a dacent Irish boy
to tlirust him wid. But there it was, ye see — av a bullet from
a riOe, or a poke from a pike cut his sodgering short, I was al-
ways to the fore to close the corpse's eyes, an' wake him com-
fortably, and see that he had a headstone over him, as a dacent
O'Donnell should. But, shure — (this is a saycret, mind) — her
ladyship, good luck to her ! has him now, or will shortly ; an'
troth if he's half as unaisy, an' half as throublesome on her
hands as he is on mine, it's hersilf '11 be sick an' sore av her
bargain. An' it's on me two knees I'd go to ye this minute,
me darlin, av it wasn't owin to the dampness of the grass, an'
the rheumatism that does be throublin' me in the small av me
back, an' ax ye there, fornint me, av ye'll be Misthress Lafferty.
And faith ! it's not to more than half a dozen young women livin'
I'd say the like."

" Lanty ! I say, you scoundrel, do you want to be late ? "
called the voice of his master. " Come along here — there's
not a minute to lose."

"Oh, tare an' ages! Shure there he is himself! Give us
a kiss, Shusan, me darlin' av' the wurruld, an' long life to ye till
I come back."

There was the very audible report of a very audible embrace,

THAT NIGHT.

S17

and then Mr. Lafferty in great haste made his appearance round
the angle of the building.

" Comin', sir — comin', yer honor. Niver fear but I'll be in
time. I'll be at the station below in a pig's whisper."

There was barely time to attend to the luggage, pay the bill,
and drive to the station. 'They caught the train, and no more.
There had been no opportunity of writing his lordship the ex-
planation he had promised. It must be postponed until their
arrival in London.

" I may as well tell him all, and entreat him to let her alone.
Even Sir Peter, when he learns who she is, and receives his
money back, will hardly care to further persecute Katherine
Dangerlield. And she dare not go with me for her own sake 1
Hum — -m — I don't understand that.^^

It was late when the lights of the great metropolis flashed
before them. They drove at once to a quiet family hotel, and
late as it was. Captain O'Donnell sat to write and post the
promised letter to Lord Ruysland. He told him at length
of the story of his suspicions, of the night visit to Bracken
Hollow, when his lordship had seen him accompany Miss
Herncastle home, of the scar on the temple, of the opening of
the grave — of the "confirmation strong as Holy Writ" — the
accumulated evidence which had proven her Katherine Dan-
ger field.

" Her sins have been forced upon her," he wrote ; " her
virtues are her own. In the hour of her triumph she resigns all
— confesses all, and sends back the money won to Sir Peter
Dangerfield. She has gone — let her go in peace. She has
suffered enough to expiate even greater wrong-doing than hers.
I believe she has made a much greater renunciation — I believe
she has destroyed or caused me to destroy, the paper that would
have proved her birthright. It was superscribed ' Confession
of Harriet Harman,' and now that I have had time to think
over her words, I believe that confession proved her parentage.
As I understand her, this Harriet ' Harman was her nurse, and
for some reason of her own, placed another child in her stead,
took her from England, and in France gave her to Sir John
Dangerfield. Her assertion of her claims, she said, could bring
nothing but misery — pain and shame to her father — suffering
and disgrace to her who stood in her place. So in the hour of

i fruition she deliberately destroyed her last hope, and has gone
xurth into the world to labor for her bread, leaving another to
usurp her name and station. Sacrifice less grecCt has been

Si8

THAT NIGHT,

made, and called itself martyrdom. If you ever meet her
again, my lord— be her friend as I would have been, had she
allowed me."

The dawn was gray in the August sky as Captain O'Donnell
posled this letter. Two hours later, as he sat at their early
breakfast with his sister, the cab that was to carry them to Lon-
don Bridge station waiting at the door, one of the small boys
telegraph offices employ, approached him with an ominous
yellow envelope in his hand. O'Donnell tore it open — it was a
cable message — dated New Orleans, and in a dozen words
changed the whole tenor of his life.

* * Redmond O' Donnell : — My wife and son are dead. For God's sake
come to me at once and fetch Rose. ' Louis De Lansac."

Tord Ruysland, without knowing why, obeyed Redmond
O'Donnell and postponed that forcible visit to Bracken Hol-
low.

" It isn't like O'Donnell to be swayed by any sentimental
impulse," his lordship mused ; " he generally has some sound
reason for what he does and says. I wonder what he meant
by that profession of sympathy and compassion, and the rest
of it. She is a fine woman — an unconunonly fine woman ;
but the big chasseur isn't the sort to be influenced by that.
Til wait until I get his letter at least, and upon my life I hope
I'll get it soon, for I feel as curious as a woman."

He was taking a gentle evening constitutional around the
big fish-pond, feeling very much bored, and waiting for the
dinner-bell. Men and women around him might sin and sepa-
rate, love and part, but all that was over and done with long
ago, with the Right Honorable the Earl of Ruysland. ,. Life
flowed on, a tranquil river — it's only ripple duns and digestion ;
passion and he had long ago shaken hands and parted. The
house was insufferably dull ; O'Donnell, his sister, Sir Arthur,
and Sir Peter gone ; Lady Dangerfield in alternate fits of tears,
hysterics, scolding, and sulks ; and his daughter moving about
the rooms in her light shining summer dress, more like some
pale spirit of a dead Lady Cecil than her living self

" Life has a natural tendency to the contraries," his lordship
moralized, plaintively ; " human nature inclines to the zig-zag.
Now why, in Heaven's name, must Ginevra, gifted with the
average of woman's cunning — quarrel with her lord and mas-
ter— defy Sir Peter, and involve herself and all her relations in
trouble ? Why can't Queenie bloom and smile as the affianced

7!^^ 2" NIGHT.

bride of one of the richest young baronets in the United
Kingdom should, instead of fading away to a shadow ? Why
need O'Donnell ever have crossed her path again? 1 know
she is in love with that fellow. Isn't the world big enough for
him without coming to Castleford? And, finally, why couldn't
Miss Herncastle have selected some other peaceable country
family to play her devilish pranks on as well as this ? Life's
a game of contraries, I repeat — it reminds one of the child's
play : ' When I say Hold Fast, You Let Go ! ' Ah, good even-
ing, sir ; do you wish to speak to me ? "

Lord Ruysland lifted his hat blandly. For the last two or
three minutes he had been watching a tall young man ap-
proaching him — a perfect stranger — with the evident intention
of speaking. As he paused before him, his debonnaire lordship
took the initiative, lifted his beaver, and addressed him.

"You wish to speak to me, sir?" he repeated, suavely.

" I wish to speak to you, if, as I think, you are the Earl of
Ruysland."

"I am the Earl of Ruysland, and I have the honor of ad-
dressing— ? "

My nariie is Henry Otis. Six years ago I was Dr. Graves'
assistant and medical practitioner in Castleford. If your lord-
ship has ever heard the story of Katherine Dangerfield, you
may also have heard of me."

Lord Ruysland's double eye-glass went up to Lord Ruys-
land's light-blue, short-sighted, English eyes, and Lord Ruys-
land replied, with the languid drawl of English high life :

"Aw, Katherine Dangerfield, that ubiquitous young woman
again. Um, yaas, I have heard the story of Katherine Dan-
gerfield until the mere sound of her name grows a bore. I
have also heard in connection with that very tiresome young
person the name of — aw — Mr. Henry Otis. Now may I ask
what Mr. Otis can have to say on this — er— threadbare sub-
ject, and why he feels called upon to say it to me ? "

" For the best reason in the world — that I hoiiewQ your lord-
ship has the honor of being Katherine Dangerfield's father !"

Like a bolt from a bow — like a bullet whizzing from a rifle,
the truth came. And Henry Otis folded his arms and stood
before the noble peer with a grimly triumphant face.

"Your daughter!" he repeated. "You understand, my
lord, your only daughter. For the past twenty years your
lordship has been laboring under a monstrous delusion. Kath-
erine Dangerfield was your daughter."

520

THAT NIGHT.

No shadow of change came over the earl's placid face.
With his eye-glass still up he stood and stared calmly at Henry
Otis.

"You're not a lunatic, I suppose," he said, meaningly.
" You don't look as though you were. Still you'll excuse me
if I venture to doubt your perfect sanity. Have you any more
remarks of this extraordinary nature to make ? For if you
have" — he pulled out his watch — "my time is limited. In ten
minutes the dinner-bell will ring, and it is one of the few fixed
principles I have taken the trouble to retain, never to be late
for dinner."

" My lord," Henry Otis said, " you do not believe me, of
course — what I say cannot sound otherwise than mad and pre-
sumptuous, and yet it is true. I beg of you to listen to me —
1 happen to be able to prove what I say. Carry your mind
back twenty years, and tell me if you happen to remember
Harriet Harm an ? "

" I remember Harriet Harman perfectly well. Will you
pardon me, Mr. Otis, if I say I think you are troubHng your-
self greatly with what in no way concerns you, and what I
have no desire to hear."

" By Heaven, my lord, you shall hear ! " Henry Otis cried,
his sallow face whitening with anger, "if not in private here,
then in the pubUc print. I am not mad, though my assertion
must sound like madness to you. I can prove what I sa}'.
Twenty years ago, when Harriet Harman gave you the child
you came to claim, she gave you — not the daughter of the late
Countess of Ruysland, but her own."

There were five seconds' blank silence. The face of Henry
Otis was white, his pale eyes flashing. For the earl — not a
muscle of his well-trained countenance twitched, not a shadow
of change came over his high-bred face. His eye-glass was
still held to his eyes, his thin lips set themselves a trifle more
closely — that was all.

In the surprise of the moment, in the suddenness of the inter-
view, both had forgotten where they were. Neither saw a
slender figure in white dinner dress, a white lace mantilla
thrown over its head, that had descended from the portico and
approached over the velvet turf. The last words of Henry
Otis reached her. She stopped as if shot. The memorable
King's Oak was near — under its dark, wide shadow she stood
still to listen.

"This is a marvelous statement, Mr. Otis," the peer said,

THAT NIGHT,

521

with perfect calm. " Will you pardon me once more if I find
it impossible to believe it ? Harriet Harman gave me her
child instead of mine twenty years ago ! What egregious non-
sense is this — taken second-hand from one of last century's
romances ? I can only wonder at a gentleman of your good
sense repeating it."

" Taken from a romance, or what you please, my lord,"
Henry Otis said, doggedly, " but true — true as Heaven is above
us. Harriet Harman swore vengeance upon your wife for
separating her from her lover, and that vengeance she wreaked
on lier child. I repeat it — she changed them. Her child was
a month old when yours was born — your lordship knew or
cared nothing about it — never saw it until it was given to you
as your own. You saw nothing of your own either from the
day of its birth. Again I repeat, when you returned to Eng-
land and Mrs. Harman, she gave you her own daughter and
retained yours. The young lady whom you have brought up,
whom you call Lady Cecil Clive, is in reality Katherine Har-
man."

There was a sobbing cry from beneath the tree. Neither
heard it. His lordship made a step forward.

" You villain ! " he said, in a voice scarcely above a whisper ;
" by Heaven ! I'll throttle you if you repeat that lie ! "

" It is the truth," Henry Otis retorted, in cold disdain. I
can prove it. Harriet Harman is here — ready to swear to what
I say."

" And do you think I would believe her oath if she did ! "
Lord Ruysland cried ; but his face grew a dreadful livid gray as
he said it. ^' This is some nefarious plot got up between you
to extort money, no doubt, but — "

He stopped. Henry Otis turned his back upon him in con-
tempt.

" I see it is useless talking to you. A court of law, perhaps,
will be more easily convinced. Harriet Harman is here, and
ready to repeat the story. Once more I assert Katherine
Dangerfield is your daughter — she who is known as the Lady
Cecil CUve is not. Before you are a week older I think even
your incredulity will be staggered. I have the honor to wish
your lordship good-evening. There is the dinner-bell. As
your lordship's fixed principles are so few, don't let me be the
man to infringe the most important of them."

He lifted his hat in mocking salute and turned to go. But
his lordship strode forward and caught him by the shoulder.

522

THAT NIGHT

" Stay ! " he said, in a ringing tone of command. You
have said either too much or too Httle. Why do you repeat
Katherine Dangerheld is my daughter? Katherine Danger-
field is dead."

.Mr. Otis smiled, and drew himself away.

" I decline to say more to your lordship at present. I tell
you the truth, and you accuse me of a lie. That is sufficient.
Harriet Harman is at Bracken Hollow — either to-night or to-
morrow your lordship can see her there. If you refuse to be-
lieve what she says, the matter shall be placed in the hands of
justice. Katherine Dangerfield, whether living or dead, shall
be avenged."

He paused. During the last five minutes a sudden red,
meteor-like light had flashed up in the gray southern sky.
Whilst he talked it had steadily increased — brighter and broader
— redder and fiercer it grew — it could be only one thing-^^-^ !
At that instant there came clashing across the twilight stillness,
the fire bells of the town — the red light in the sky growing
redder and redder.

" Fire ! " Henry Otis exclaimed, knitting his brows, " and in
that direction. There is no house there but Bracken Hollow.
What if that lunatic, Dantree, has got out of his room and suc-
ceeded in what he has attempted so often — setting fire to the
house ! "

Clash ! clang ! The fire alarm grew louder, the flames were
shooting up into the soft gray sky. One of the grooms came
galloping up the avenue, flinging himself out of the saddle at
sight of the earl,

"Where's the fire, my man?" Otis called.

" At Bracken Hollow, zur ; and it be all ablaze as T coom
oop — " But Otis did not wait for the completion of the sen-
tence. With one bound he was on the back of the horse, and
dashing down the avenue like the wind.

" I might have known," he said between his clenched teeth,
"what would come of keei)ing' Hannah with Harriet Harman.
Dantree has got free, and found the matches, and succeeded at
last in what he has failed so often — setting fire to Bracken Hol-
low."

The horse was a fleet one ; he darted onward like an arrow.
Ten minutes brought him to Bracken Hollow. There was no
wind, but the old house was like tinder, and shrivelled up at
once. It looked all one sheet of fire as he threw himself off
the horse and rushed towards it.

THAT NIGHT.

There was a crowd collected, but the fire engines had not
yet arrived. Little use their coming now. At the instant he
appeared old Hannah came rushing headlong out.

" Save him for Heaven's sake ! " she cried, "if ye be men
will ye stand there and see a fellow creature burned to death
before your eyes? I've lost the oi her room. Come — ■
come — and burst open the door."

" What is it, Hannah ? " called Henry Otis ; " where is Dan-
tree and Mrs. Harman ? "

" Oh, thank Heaven you're here ! Mrs. Harman is locked
up in her room now and I can't find the key. Come and break
it open for the Lord's sake. And he is I don't know where — no
one has ever seen him yet."

" He has made his escape, no doubt. Stand aside, Hannah,
or the woman will be burned to death."

There was an axe in the porch. He seized it and rushed
headlong through flames and smoke towards Mrs. Harman' s
room. Her ringing screams broke over everything now. He
struck at the door with all his might, but it was strong and re-
sisted. "Stand from the door," he shouted to her within, "and
be quiet ; I will save you." He struck it again and again ; it
yielded to the fifth blow, and went crashing into the room.
She was standing, in spite of his warning, directly opposite ; it
struck her heavily and felled her to the floor. He sprung in
and drew her from beneath. The sharp angle of the oak door
had struck her on the head near the temple ; a great stream of
blood was pouring over her face as he lifted her. The fire
was already surging through the open door. He bowed his
head over her, and with his burden rushed out of the doomed
house.

He laid her on the ground senseless, bleeding. As he did
so a mighty shout anose, then died away in a low moan of hor-
ror. Far up on the leads of the blazing building, far beyond
all human aid, appeared a wild figure — the figure of a young
man — with dark streaming hair, white face, and black, maniac
eyes. It was Gaston Dantree.

The flames shot lurid and crimson up around him, higher
than his head. His wild, mad cries of exultation rang shrilly
out — his laughter curdled the blood of the Hsteners. " Ha !
ha ! " they heard him shout. " I told her I'd do it, and I've
done it. Here's a fire, and I'm free, I'm free, I'm free !"

The red flames, the black smoke, hid him from their view ;
then with a dreadful roar the fire leaped up higher than ever,

524 ^^'^ ^» FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW,

and the roof fell in with a crash. The strongest, the hardest
there, turned away and covered their eyes, sick with liorror.

Six years before, Gaston Dantree had shuddered with vague
nameless fear as he first looked on Bracken Hollow. That
presentiment was fulfilled — strangely — terribly. For five years
Bracken Hollow had been his prison ! — this fearful August even-
ing it was his grave !

CHAPTER XXVIII.

NOT I, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW.'

WELVE ! by the steeple of Castleford High street ;
twelve ! by the loud-voiced clock of the Scarswood
stables. In the intense, sultry silence of the August
night, the sharp, metallic strokes came even into that
upper chamber of the Silver Rose, where, upon the big, cur-
tained, old-fashioned four-poster in which Mrs. Vavasor and
Rose O'Donnell had both slept, Harriet Harman lay dying.

Dying ! No earthly aid could reach her now. The blow of
the heavy, iron-studded door had done its work. Doctor
Graves went into learned medical details of the injury done
the brain, and out of that obscure detail one terrible fact stood
clear — she was dying ! Katherine had spared her, and in that
very hour Death had sealed her for his own. Her life of sin,
of plotting, of all evil and wrong-doing was rapidly drawing to a
close; the midnight hour booming solemnly through the quiet
town, was ushering in the eternal night for her.

A smouldering heap of charred and burning ruins was all that
remained of Bracken Hollow. To-morrow, among the debris,
search would be instituted for the bones of the wretched victim
of his own insanity. It had been his mania from the first to
escape. Dozens of times he had attempted to fire the house,
and old Hannah's constant vigilance had baffled him. Busied
with the care of Mrs. Harman, he had been overlooked that
day, and the result was his escape from his room, and the con-
summation of his purpose. The house was enveloped in flames
before Hannah was aware. She had lain down to take a nap,
and it was the cry of fire, and its dull roar around, that awoke

NOT /, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW. 525

her. Bewildered by sleep and fear, she lost all presence of
mind, forgot her two charges, and rushed forth. What she had
done with the key of her latest prisoner's room she could not
recollect ; the breaking in and fall of the door did the rest.

They were all at the Silver Rose — Henry Otis, old Hannah,
Lord Ruysland, and — Lady Cecil Clive. She had glided in
among them an hour before — a gray ashen pallor on her face,
a deep strange horror in her eyes, but calm beyond all telling ;
she walked alone from Scarswood ; she had heard every word
of Henry Otis's interview with the earl ; she had neither fainted
nor fallen ; she had only sat down on a primrose knoll, feeling
stunned and stupid. In that state she saw Mr. Otis mount the
groom's horse and dash away like a madman ; she had heard
her father call his, and dash after ; she saw the red light in the
sky, and knew in a vague, dreamy sort of way, that it was afire.
And then her mind, without any voHtion of her own, went back
and repeated over and over the strange words this strange man
had said :

" Lady Cecil Clive is not your daughter — her name is Kath-
arine Harman. The children were changed at nurse — your
daughter was Katherine- Dangerfield."

" Katherine Dangerfield !" She repeated the name vaguely,
pulling the primroses and mechanically arranging them in a bou-
quet. She felt no pain — no terror — no disbelief — only that
stunned numbness. And still her mind persistently took up the
tale and repeated it. " Not Lord Ruysland' s daughter ! — whose,
then, was she ? This Mrs. Harman he spoke of had been the
nurse — and the nurse had given Lord Ruysland her own child.
If so, then Mrs. Harman must be her mother. The thread of
thought broke here. She arranged the primroses in a different
fashion, twisting a blade of grass about the stems. Then like
a flash memory pinioned her thoughts. Her mother ! Her
mother, a guilty, lost woman, and she — she not I^ord Ruys-
land's daughter, the upstart usurper of another's rights.

The flowers dropped from her fingers, she started to her feet
with a low, wailing cry. No more merciful apathy, no more
stupor of mind. Clear as the crimson light yonder in the twi-
light sky the whole truth burst upon her. She was not Lord
Ruysland' s daughter — she was a usurper, and as such about to
be shown to the world — no peeress of England, but the child
of a guilty, designing servant woman.

She staggered as she stood, and grasped the branch of a tree.
Her hands flew up and covered her face — one heart-broken sob

526 NOT /, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW.

broke from her. She was very proud — sweet, gentle, gracious,
all womanly she was, but even that sweet graciousness arose
out of her pride. The daughter of a "belted earl" can afford
to wear a smile for all less-favored mortals. She had been
intensely proud of the name and rank she bore — of the noble
line of ancestry stretching back to the Norman William ; every
stone, every tree around dear, old, ivied Clive Court, she loved
like living things. Her very pride had made her accept what
had galled that pride most — the formal offer of Sir Arthur Tre-
genna. He bore a name as old, nay older, than her own ; the
Tregennas had been barons and warriors in the reign of Edward
the Confessor — the old glory of the house of Ruysland would
be restored by this alliance. Had the man she loved asked
her to be his wife, to go with him and share his poverty and
obscurity — the chances are, loving him with a desperate, pas-
sionate love as she did, she might still have refused him. And
now !

Her hands dropped from before her face — she stood cold,
and white, and still. It was the righteous punishment of such
pride as hers, such selfishness — such an outrage on all that was
best and most womanly within her. Of all the men the world
held, she loved but one ; handsomer, nobler, more talented,
had asked her to be their wife, but her heart had been like a
stone to all. Redmond O'Donnell she had loved from the
first. Redmond O'Donnell she would love until she died,
And with heart full to overflowing with that passionate love,
she had yet been ready to become the wife of another man.
That man's pride of birth and station was equal to her own —
what could he say to this ?

" Fire — fire ! " The servants were echoing the cry and
rushing to the highest points, where they could see it best. It
was nothing to her ; she drew back behind the tree, and stood
looking blankly, blindly before her. The child of a servant ! a
usurper ! The world seemed rocking under her feet — the trees
swimming round. Why had she not died before the truth was
told ? The night fell — the dew with it ; she still stood there,
heedless. She heard with preternatural distinctness the loud
contending voices of the servants announcing the whereabouts
of the fire. The servants ! It came to her that she should be
one of them — that her birthright had been the servants' hall,
not the drawing-room. Strangely enough she had never
thought of doubting — she had seen Henry Otis' face — heard his
voice, and felt, she knew not how, that he had told the truth.

[NOT /, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW. 527

Presently came a messenger rushing breathless from the
town, full of the exciting news. Bracken Hollow was burned
to the ground ; a man, nobody knew who — burned to death
with it, and a woman killed. They had taken the woman to the
Silver Rose ; she was, not quite dead yet, it seemed, and my
lord had gone after her, and was there now. The woman's
name had leaked out somehow — it was Mrs. Harraan.

Mrs. Harman ! Her mother ! It flashed upon her what
Mr. Otis had said — Mrs. Harman had been imprisoned at
Bracken Hollow to confess the truth, and now lay dying at the
Silver Rose. Her mother ! Guilty or not — lost, wretched,
abandoned — still her mother. She started up — all stupor, all
pride gone forever. She walked to the house — ran up to her
own room — threw oft' her light muslin and costly laces, re-
placed them by a dress of dark gray, a summer shawl and hat.
Then five minutes after was walking rapidly toward the tov/n.
She had told no one, Ginevra was absorbed in her own troubles,
and there was no time for explanations. An hour before mid-
night she reached the Silver Rose.

A crowd of the town people were still gathered excitedly
before it. A man burned to death — a woman killed — ^Bracken
Hollow in ashes — not often was Castleford so exercised as this.
And the dying woman must be somebody of importance, since
my lord himself refused to leave the inn until her fate was one
way or other decided.

They fell back wondering and respectful as Lady Cecil Clive
drew near. Were they asleep or awake ? Lord Ruysland's
only daughter, alone and on foot, in Castleford at this hour.
She passed through them all — never seeing them — seeing
nothing, it seemed. The soft hazel eyes had a blind, sightless,
sleep-waking sort of stare — her face was all drawn and white.
In the passage she came face to face with the landlord. The
dark, solemn eyes looked at him.

" Lord Ruysland is here," the pale lips said, " take me to
him."

The man drew back a step — that nameless something in her
colorless face terrified him.

" Take me to him," she repeated, " at once."

He bowed low and led the way. Who was the dying woman
upstairs, that Lord Ruysland and his daughter should trouble
themselves like this ? He had not seen her face — probably
would not have recalled it if he had. His lordship was not in
the sick chamber, but in the little parlor adjoining — the little

528 ^OT /, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW.

parlor, where, one other night, six years before, Sir John Dan-
gerlield's adopted daughter had waited to see Mrs. Vavasor.
He was walking very slowly and softly up and down, his brow
knit with a retiective frown — one white, slender hand thrust
inside his coat. He looked up, and saw, without warning of
any sort, Cecil. He absolutely recoiled — the sight of her, at
that hour, in this place, and wearing ///^z/ face, so startled him
that for a second's time he lialf doubted if it were not her wraith.
"Qucenie!" he gasped.

"Yes, papa — Queenie." She came forward and stood before
him. "I was in the grounds," she continued, with perfect
abruptness, "very near you, when Mr. Otis came and told you
his story. I heard it all. It is true, I suppose, papa?"

He stood silent — speechless — looking at her in wonder and
doubt.

It is true, I suppose ? " she repeated.
" What is true ? "

" That I am not your daughter — that Katherine Dangerfield
was. That I am the daughter of the woman dying in that room."

He wa^ a man ordinarily very chary of caresses, but he was
fond of the girl he had believed his daughter — he was fond of
her still. Her beauty and her elegance had gratified his pride ;
her gende, tender, winning ways had won his heart — or, at
least, as much heart as that noble lord had to win. He took
her in his arms now and kissed her.

" My dear," he said very gently, " I hope you know me well .
enough to be sure that, whether it is true or false, you will
still be the same to me — the ,daughter I love and am proud
of. I wish you need never have heard it ; but, since it must
come, I am thankful I am not the one to break it to you. It
is a very terrible and shocking affair from first to last \ I feel
almost too stunned to realize it yet."

" It is perfectly true, then ?"

" Well — yes, Queenie — I am afraid it is."

Had, all unknown to herself, some dim, shadowy hope still
lingered in her breast that it might not be true ? The sharpest
pang she had felt yet pierced her as she heard his quiet words.
With a sort of gasp her head fell on his shoulder and lay there. '

" My poor little Queenie," he said, tenderly, " it is hard on
you. Confound Otis ! Why the devil couldn't he keep the
nefarious story to himself? /was satisfied — where ignorance
is bliss 'twere folly to be wise. You are the only daughter I
want, and the other poor girl is dead — can't do her any good

NOT /, BUT FATE, HATE DEALT THIS BLOW. 529

now. But remember, Queem'e, whatever comes of it, I look
upon you still as my daughter — all the Otises and Harmans on
earth shall not separate you and me. As Sir Arthur Tregenna's
wife we can afford to despise their malice."

She shivered slightly at the sound of that name — then she
lifted her head and drew herself away from him.

" Papa," she said, " you know why I have come here. If —
I mean since she is my mother — I must see her. Oh, papa, I
must ! She has done a terrible wrong, but she is dying, and — "
the agony within her broke into a wailing sob here — "I can't
believe it — I can't — unless I hear it from her own lips. Take
me to her, papa— please."

" I doubt if she will ever speak to any one in this world
again — still the doctors say she may. Graves and Otis are
with her. I'll ask them if they'll admit you."

He tapped at the door.

The pale face of Henry Otis looked out. As his eyes fell
on, the tall, slender, elegant figure of the young lady, even he
shrank.

" My daughter is here," the earl said coldly. " She knows
all. She wishes to see Mrs. Harman, to hear, if it be possible
for Mrs. Harman to speak — confirmation of your story from
her lips. I think even you will allow, Mr. Otis, this is no more
than her right."

" It is her right," Henry Otis said calmly.

He bowed to the queenly form and lovely face, and held the
door wide for her to pass.

" You, too, my lord," he said. " She is dying, but she is
conscious, and she has spoken. I must beg," he looked at
Lady Cecil, " that you will be very quiet. A moment's excite-
ment would be fatal."

She bowed her head and glided to the bedside. In the dim
light of the shaded lamp she looked down upon the dying face.
Even to her inexperienced eyes the dread seal of death lay
there — the faint breathing was not audible, the eyes were closed
— the fingers moved a little, plucking at the sheet. Opposite
stood Dr. Graves holding her pulse in one hand — his watch in
the other. Lord Ruysland followed and stood beside his
daughter. Henry Otis bent over her and spoke.

" Mrs. Harman, Lord Ruysland is here. Can you speak to
him ? "

The eyelids fluttered — lifted — the great dark eyes looked up
out of the rigid face, and fixed at once upon the earl's.
23

530 NOT 7, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW,

Harriet," he said, and at the sound of the old name the
dying face lit. You know me, do you not ? "

"Yes," very faintly the word came; "my lord, I — know
you. I am sorry — ^" the whisper died away.

He bent close above her.

"Listen, Harriet — speak if you can — tell the truth now.
Is Henry Otis' story true ? Was it your child — your own — you
gave me twenty years ago, or mine ? "

" It was miiie — I will swear it — if you like. I kept yours.
I hated my lady. I swore revenge. She parted me from Lio-
nel. Lionel ! Lionel ! " Her face lit again — the old love of
her youth came back ! The old love ! mighty beyond all
earthly passion, mighty to break prison bars, to compass the
earth, to cross oceans, to endure in the very throes of death.

Lord Ruysland bent closer and took her hand.

" Look, Harriet," he said ; " look at this face beside me. It
is the child you gave me — that I love. Tell me again, as God
hears and will judge you, is she yours or mine ? "

The dark eyes turned upon the lovely, youthful face. She
sank on her knees, and came very near that dying face.

" She is — mine — as God hears and will judge me — mine, Kath-
arine Harman. Yours 1 gave to Sir John Dangerfield. Her
grave is in Castleford Churchyard, and I saw her — saw her —
two nights ago."

Lord Ruysland looked at Henry Otis.

" She saw Helen Herncastle," Henry Otis answered, with
rigidly compressed lips.

" I did you great wrong," the dying lips whispered again — the
dying eyes turning once more to the earl. The sight of her
child seemed to wake no emotion whatever within her. " I
hated my lady — I swore revenge — and I took it. I kept her
child. She parted me from Lionel. He loved me — Lionel !
Lionel ! "

The faintly whispering voice died away — she never spoke
again. Lady Cecil's face lay buried in her hands — on the oth-
ers dead silence fell. The eyes closed, a spasm shook her
from head to foot. Lionel,^' the lips seemed to form once,
then there was a moment's quiet, a strong shiver, and with it
the last flicker of the lamp went out. And death stood in the
midst of them.

" Come away, ray darling," the earl whispered tenderly in
Lady Cecil's ear.

Two sightless eyes look up at him, Wind with dumb misery—

NOT I, B UT FA TE, HA TH DEAL T THIS BLOW. 531

then with a gasp the tension that had held her up so long gave
way. She fell back fainting in his arms.

The bUnds were closed — a solemn hush lay over the house.
In the parlor of the Silver Rose two coffins stood on tressels.
In one the body of Harriet Harman lay — in the other, what
they had found in the ruins of Bracken Hollow.

It was late in the afternoon of the follov/ing day. Over
Scarswood Park summer silence and summer beauty reigned.
The fish-pond and fountains flashed like jewels in the sunshine-
turfy lanes, emerald green — white, pink, and crimson August
roses nodded their fragrant heads in the sultry heat. The
stone terraces — the great urns were burnished like silver, the
leaves of the copper beeches Avere blood-red rubies, and long
lances of light went slanting in amid the waving greenery of
fern. The peacock strutted unadmired in the sun, bees
boomed, grasshoppers chirped, but no living thing was to be
seen around the grand old mansion. Everywhere, within and
without, Sabbath silence reigned.

The Earl of Ruysland was alone in the solitude and splendor
of the drawing-rooms, his reflection in the many mirrors meet-
ing him at every turn, like a black-robed ghost. He was walk-
ing up and down as Lady Cecil had found him last night — the
same thoughtful frown on his brow, the same exas})erated
thought still uppermost.

*' Why the deuce couldn't Otis have minded his business and
let things alone ? From all I have heard of the other one^^ he
resumed, " I was much better ofl" without her. She was neither
handsome nor amiable ; she was passionate, headstrong, willful,
disobedient. Cecil is none of these things; she has been a
creditable daughter from first to last. And they say blood
tells. Why need this officious fool, this meddlesome Otis, go
raking up the unpleasant truth ? The other is dead — it can't
benefit her. Cecil is aUve, and it will make her wTetched all
the rest of her life, poor child, and what — what will Sir Arthur
say? One consolation is, he is the soul incarnate of honor :
he won't draw back, if I know him at all ; I believe he will
only press his suit the harder. So poor Queenie is provided
for in any case. Egad ! I didn't know how fond I was of her
before ! It's a very unpleasant business from first to last, and
I could see Otis at the bottom of the bottomless pit with pleas-
ure. It must be hushed up — at any price, it must be hushed
up — for my sake, for my late wife's, for poor Queenie' s, for Sir

532 ^OT /, BUT FATE, HATH DEALT THIS BLOW.

Arthur's. The devil take Otis ! what was the fool's motive, I
wonder ? What — what if that diabolical Miss Herncastle has
had something to do with this, too ? On my life, she has !
Was there ever an infernal piece of mischief let loose on the
earth yet, without the woman being the instigator ? I believe,"
— he struck his hands together — "it is Miss Herncastle's
handiwork from first to last. Well, Soames, what now ? "

" The post, my lord — letters for your lordship."

The bowing Soames placed a silver salver, on which half a
dozen letters were arranged, before his lordship, and backed
from the room.

There were one or two for Lady Cecil — one from Sir Arthur
Tregenna — two for Lady Dangerfield, and two for hi'.nself The
first of these letters was on business from his solicitor, the
other in a hand that was new to him. He broke it open. It
was lengthy. He glanced at the name — " Redmond O' Donnell."

"Now what does O'Donnell mean, by making me wade
through twelve closely written pages?" his lordship said in an
aggrieved tone. " How little consideration some people have
for the feelings of their fellow-beings I I'll look over it at least,
I suppose."

He adjusted his eye-glass, smoothed out the pages, and glanced
through them. " Miss Herncastle " — " Katherine Dangerfield"
■ — what did it mean ? Everywhere those two names !

His lassitude vanished. He began at the beginning, and
slowly and carefully read the letter through. His face changed
as it had not changed when Otis first broke to him the news
that his daughter was not his daughter. Goodness above !
what was this ? Katherine Dangerfield not dead ! Katherine
Dangerfield and Miss Herncastle one and the same ! Kath-
erine Dangerfield his daughter ! Miss Herncastle, whom he
had hunted down, whom he had employed a detective to
track, whom he had driven from Scarswood like a felon — Kath-
erine Dangerfield and Miss Herncastle one f He turned sick.
He laid down the letter — a creeping feeling of faintness upon
him — and waited. The soft breeze of the summer's evening
blew on his face. A carafe of ice-water stood on a table. He
drank a glass, took a turn about the room, sat down suddenly,
and read the letter over again.

It was plainly there — all the proofs, one after another ; no
doubting — no disputing now. She had not died ; Otis knew it
and had not told him this. He recalled the picture of Lionel
Cardanell in the possession of the governess, her interest in the

HOW IT ENDED.

533

story, the strong likeness to his dead wife that had struck him
the first time he saw her. The ghost and the resemblance to
Katherine Dangerfield were explained now. A wig and dyed
eyebrows were all the disguises she had assumed. What a bold
game she had played ! And Tregenna had fallen in love with
her, and he had separated them — forced him to propose to
Harriet Harman's daughter. His daughter lived — had relented
at the eleventh hour — had burned the confession — returned Sir
Peter his money — renounced her retribution — and gone into
the world alone and unaided to fight the bitter battle of life.

For once in his life, cynicism, philosophy, Voltairism fell
from the Earl of Ruysland ; for once all the creeds of his train-
ing and his order were powerless to help him bear this. Had
Redmond O'Donnell ever asked for revenge — had he seen him
then — even he might have been amply satisfied. He covered
his eyes with his hand — struck to the very soul.

" Oh, God ! " he cried, " this is the hardest to bear of all ! "

CHAPTER XXIX.

HOW IT ENDED.

^g|T was a brilliant April day.

That never-to-be-forgotten August, and all the
bright summer, the yellow autumn, the chill gray win-
ter months had worn away. March had howled and

blustered through the leafless trees of Scarswood Park, and now
April, soft and sunny, smiling and showering, was here, clothing
all the land in living green.

The bright afternoon was at its brightest, as Lady Cecil Clive
took her seat in a rustic chair, under the King's Oak, her sketch-
book in her lap, the flickering lines of yellow light slanting on
her uncovered head. Pearl and Pansy played at hide-and-seek
along the terraces and through the trees. Lady Dangerfield, in
the drawing-room, played waltzes on the piano ; and Lady
Cecil let i)Ook and pencils fall listlessly, and sat " lost in mem-
ory's mazes."

Eight months had passed and gone since that August day
when Sir Arthur Tregenna had stood by her side at yonder
sunny boudoir window and asked her to be his wife. Eight

534

HOW IT ENDED.

months since, in the hotel parlor, he had pleaded with her to
marry him — pleaded while all his heart was another's — pleaded,
and in vain.

They had met but once since then, and then how differently.

He had gone abroad, and resumed his wandering life. Before
going, however, he had called upon Katherine — a most unsat-
isfactory and embarrassing meeting for both. Why he had
gone he could hardly have told; some "spirit in his feet"
— some spirit in his heart. He went because he could not leave
England for years without seeing her. There was very little to
say on either side — a mutual restraint held them — the interview
had been silent and short. He looked into the pale, grave,
thoughtful face, into the sad, large eyes, and knew, more
strongly than he ,had ever known it before, that this woman,
of all the women on earth, was the only one he ever had or ever
would love.

And knowing it he had left her. Was it not wisest ? Earl
Ruysland's daughter she might be, injured beyond all repara-
tion she might be, but also, she had been an adventuress none
the less^ He was very proud — proud of his old lineage, his
spotless name, his unstained descent. No whisper had ever
been breathed against the women of his race ; should he be the
first to blot their escutcheon ? She had suffered greatly, but
also she had sinned. She had plotted and worked for revenge.
She had been an actress. She had been at the very altar, the
bride of a worthless wretch. She had stoo[)ed to play upon
that superstitious Sir Peter's fears — to play the ghost. She had
acted a lie, acted a doubly deceitful part, gone in male attire to
the masquerade, personated Frankland, and separated man and
wife. And last, and worst of all in this dark and deadly sum-
ming up of crime, she had palmed herself off' again, of course
in male attire, as Gaston Dantree, and with the coolness and
skill of a Homburg gambler, won from the baronet his money.

All this she had done. He might be in love, but he was not
blind — he summed up the evidence mercilessly against her.
True, at the eleventh hour she had striven to repair and atone ;
but can any reparation or atonement ever wash out guilt on
earth ? She had been great even in her wrong-doing ; but such
a woman as this was no wife for him. And he turneihis back
resolutely upon England and her, and went wandering over the
world, striving to forget.

But forgetfulness would not come. " How is it under our
control to love or not to love ? " He could not banish her
memory, or tl^e love with which she had inspired hini;, from his

HOW IT ENDED.

535

heart. The pale, wistful face, the dark, sad eyes followed him,
haunted hiui, wherever he went. And just three months after
his departure, there came to Miss Dangerfield a letter, post-
marked Constantinople, pouring forth all his doubts, all his
scruples, all his love — a full confession. He could not be
happy without her — would she be his wife ?
Her answer was a refusal.

" I would indeed be unworthy the great compliment you pay
me," she wrote, "if I accepted your generous offer. My life
has gone wrong from first to last; all the years that are to come
will be too few for atonement. Sir Arthur Tregenna's wife must
be above reproach. No one in the future shall lift the finger
of scorn, and say the last of a noble line disgraced it by mar-
rying me. It is utterly impossible, Sir Arthur, that I can be
your wife. But the knowledge that I once won a heart so true,
so noble, will brighten all my life."

He had written to her again, and she had answered, gently,
but with unflinching resolution. Again he wrote, again she
replied, and the correspondence went on between them. Dur-
ing that winter long letters from every city in Europe came to
the little cottage of Henry Otis. And so — they hardly knew
how — they grew to understand one another as they miglit never
have done else. She learned, as the months went by, to look
for the coming of those pleasant white-winged messengers as
gleams of sunshine in her sober, drab-colored life. As for him
— how eagerly Sir Arthur Tregenna received and welcomed the
replies, only Sir Arthur Tregenna knew.

For the rest, she had already atoned in great measure for the
evil of the past. Her letter to Sir Peter, her humility, her forgive-
ness, had somehow made its way even to his shrivelled, icy
heartj^ The unutterable relief of knowing she was not dead,
that the ghost was no ghost, of receiving intact all his money
back, was so great, that he was ready to promise anything, do
anything. She asked but one boon ; that he would forgive and
take back his wife. The blame of the masked ball was all hers
— hers alone. Lady Dangerfield would never have gone but
for her urging. He read it, his dried-up litde heart soften-
ing wonderfully for the time. He finished it, he ordered his
charger, he rode forth to Scarswood and his wife. What that
conjugal meeting was like the world is not destined to know.
Sir Peter was relenting but dignified, very dignified, and my
lady, hysterical, frightened, ready to eat humble pie to any
.extent, resigned the reins of power at once and forever. The
calumet of peace was smoked — a treaty of peace issued on

536

HOW IT ENDED.

sundry conditions. One was that the town house was to be
leased; no more London seasons, no more a box at both
houses ; Scarswood and her husband were to be brightened by
her presence the year round. And Jasper Frankland was never
to come down again. Indeed the less company the Park saw,
Sir Peter signified, the better its sovereign lord and master would
like it.

Lord Ruysland had gone abroad. There was always a little
money to be picked up at Baden-Baden and Homburg ; living
was cheap. To Baden and Homburg the noble earl went, and
entered the Hsts of " Birds of prey." For Cecil, her home was
still at Scarswood — in the capacity of governess, vice Miss
Herncastle, resigned.

" You will want a governess for Pearl and Pansy, you say,
Ginevra," she said quietly, the day preceding her father's de-
parture. " Take me."

" Queenie ! " my lady cried. " You ? "

The discovery of Queenie' s parentage had made no change in
Ginevra's affections. If there was one true, pure, womanly feel-
ing in her hard, worldly, selfish heart, it was for La Rehie Blmiche,
Yes — I," Lady Cecil answered steadily. " I ought to be
capable — papa, at least, spared no expense on my education.
I have been like the lilies of the field long enough — I have
toiled not, neither have I spun. The time has come for both.
Papa is penniless, an earl and a pauper ; every rood of land
he once owned is mortgaged past all redemption. What would
you have me do ? Live on your and Sir Peter's bounty ? I
shrink miserably from the thought of going out among strangers,
and yet, if you refuse, there is no other alternative. I love the
children, they me, and I will conscientiously do my best for
them. As I have neither testimonials nor references," smiling
a little sadly, " I shall not demand a very high salary. If you
must engage some one, I should prefer your engaging me.
Consult Sir Peter, and let me know."

" But, Queenie — good Heaven ! what will Sir Arthur — "

"Sir Arthur has nothing whatever to do with me or my ac-
tions from henceforth. I thought I had explained all that already.
My mind is made up. I shall earn my own living somehow.
Oh, Ginevra, when we think of her^ of what she ought to be,
of all I have been forced to usurp, need I blush to work?"

The result was, that Lady Cecil Clive was engaged as
governess to Lady Dangerneld's children.

" Only remember, Queenie, I won't have the world know it,"
Ginevra said ^ " it is enough for our gossiping neighbors, that

miV IT ENDED.

537

you have taken a whim to instruct Pansy and Pearl. I am un-
speakably glad you are going to remain. I should die."
Drearily this. Yes, Queenie, die, shut up alone in a dismal
country house, year in, year out, with Sir Peter Dan^erfield."

So it was settled, and the new life begun. The months went
by, slowly and heavily enough, but they went, and the Earl of
Ruysland's daughter was fairly earning her own living.

In London, Katherine was busy too. She had as many
music pupils as she could attend, and she worked indefatigably.
Her home in the Otis cottage was a peaceful — a pleasant one
— no mother could have loved her more tenderly than Mrs.
Otis, no brother half so well as Henry Otis. She had her
foreign letters too, growing strangely precious, and as winter
warmed into spring there was a sudden and most unlooked-for
visit from their writer.

" In the spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts
of love." Well not quite that, perhaps — Sir Arthur's thoughts
turned lightly upon few things — least of all that. A great
longing to see her, to hear her, had come upon him far off in
Africa. All one white Eastern nighf he lay awake watching the
yellow stars through the opening of his tent and thinking of her.
Next morning he started for England. All the rest — his jour-
iieyings by sea and land — was but a feverish dream, until the
reality came, and he was standing in the little cottage parlor,
holding her hand, and looking into the sweet, gravely thought-
ful eyes. Was she growing beautiful he wondered, was it only
the bUndness and glamour of love, or — and this was most likely
— was it the serene sweetness of an altered life shining through
the deep gray eyes ?

Again he pleaded — again she refused.

" It cannot be — it cannot ! Oh, believe it, and forget me I
It is impossible that I, after all that is past, can ever marry."

Always the past ! " he cried, bitterly. Does all your suf-
fering, all your wrongs, all your atonement, go for nothing ? If
I can forget the past, Katherine, surely you may."
.5) "You forget it now. In the years to come you maybe
/ forced to remember it. And, as your wife, I don't think I
could bear that."

"Am I a scoundrel in your eyes?" he cried out, a passion
in his voice very new there, "that, having won you for my
wife, I should ever give you cause to repent it ? "

"I did not mean that. I think nothing of you but what is
generous and noble. If you repented I \now well / should
23*

538

HO IV IT ENDED,

never see it, if you'could help it. But I think I should see it
for all that. She who was once Helen Herncastle, can never
be Lady Tregenna."

He turned away from her — such keen disappointment, such
bitter pain, written in his face, that her heart relented. She
liked him so much — so much that she began to wonder if the
liking were not loving. It was hardly possible such noble,
disinterested, enduring love as his should not beget love.

" Oh, forgive me," she penitently cried, "if I have wounded
you ! Indeed I did not mean it ! I do like you ; but it is for
your good, your happiness, I speak. Cannot you see that ? "

" I can see nothing but that without you my life will all go
wrong — will be utterly miserable. Katherine, I love you !
What more can I say ? Love me in return, and be my wife ! "

He held out his arms. For a moment she stood irresolute
• — longing, yet dreading to go, for his sake.

" Come to me ! " he pleaded — my bride ! my wife ! For-
get the past has ever been — it shall never cqme between us !
Come, and make the happiness of my life ! "

And then, as he enfolded her, and her head fell on his shoul-
der, Katherine knew that peace had found her out at last.

She told him all her story — every detail of her life, painting
what was dark in its darkest colors. He should never marry
her — not knowing the worst. Among the rest, of that strange
fancy for Redmond O'Donnell.

" I don't pretend to understand it," she said. " It may have
been part of the fatality that has been at work from the first to
care for the two men, of all men, who could never care for me
— Gaston Dantree and Redmond O'Donnell. The first was but
a foolish girl's foolish admiration for a handsome face ; the last
— ah ! well, it might have ripened into love, but it is gone now
— gone forever. I would never give you or any man on earth
my hand, if my heart might not go with it. You do me great
honor. Sir Arthur Tregenna, in asking me to be your wife ; and
as you trust me, so you will find me — your loving and faithful
wife to the end."

Three weeks later, in the lovely April weather. Sir Arthur
Tregenna, Bart., and Miss Katherine Dangerfield, were quietly
married in London. Married from Henry Otis' cottage, in a
quiet church in the loeighborhood. There was but one brides-
maid— Lady Cecil Clive. And in her white robes, her gossa-
mer veil, her bridal blossoms, the sweet, tender, tremulous
happiness of her face, Katherine was lovely. Lord Ruysland
gave away the bride. He had come express from Baden-Badeu

jffOfV IT ENDED,

539

for the purpose. And the great Cornish baronet was his son-
in-law at last.

There was a breakfast at the cottage, and Mrs. Otis cried a
great deal. If Henry Otis felt, in his heart of hearts, like keep-
ing her company, no one there discovered it. He bore it with
philosophy, but then he had vowed to get the better of his ill-
starred passion, and he was a man, whether to himself or oth-
ers, to keep his word.

Immediately after the ceremony, the " happy pair," (words
of bitter satire often — words true in the highest sense here,)
started for a prolonged Continental tour. Lord Ruysland
went back to Germany. Lady Cecil returned to Scarswood,
to my lady's dreary wailings, to Sir Peter's prosy companion-
ship, to the weary toil of training the obstreperous twins in the
rudiments of English, French, music, and drawing. Toil, dreary
beyond all telling, but bravely, thoroughly, and cheerfully done.
If Redmond O'Donnell's bronzed, somber face, and stern blue
eyes came back to her from over the sea a hundred times a
day, his name never once passed her lips.

She sits, this April afternoon, under the hoary oak, her hands
playing listlessly with her pencils, the tender green of earth,
the tender blue of sky, the sunlit loveliness of both unseen.
She sits thinking — she is far away in the past — so far that she
wakes at last with a start. Thinking is profitless work, and
presently, with a long, tired sigh, she takes up her pencils and
Bristol board and begins to work. But thought follows her
even here — the landscape she would sketch grows blurred be-
fore her eyes, and it is a face she draws — a face, every expres-
sion, every outline of which is graven on her heart.

She hears a footstep approaching up the avenue, but no one
in whom she is the least interested ever comes to Scarswood,
so she does not look up. She goes on with her work, so ab-
sorbed that she forgets all about the intruder. He sees her
afar off, and pauses a moment to look at her. The afternoon
sunshine gilds the sweet, fair, drooping face, and kindles into a
halo the bronze hair. Slowly he draws nearer, stepping on the
grass that he may not disturb her. He comes close — so close
that he can look over her shoulder and see what it is that
holds her so absorbed. Then he speaks, close beside her, and
very coolly :

" If you intend that for a fancy face, Lady Cecil, I have
nothing to say. If for a portrait, then I must tell you it is
most egregiously flattered."

She starts up with a cry ; for it is a likeness of Redmond

540

HOW IT ENDED,

O'Donn^ll she is drawing, and it is Redmond O'Donnell him-
self who stands smiUng before her.

" Good day to you, Lady Cecil " — he lifts his hat as though
they had parted yesterday, and holds out his hand — " I am
afraid I have startled you ; but not so greatly, I hope, that you
cannot shake hands. Ah ! thanks ! " As scarcely knowing
what she does she lays four cold fingers in his. " I thought at
first you meant to refuse. And how have you been since I
saw you last ? " He takes a seat in the rustic chair, which ac-
commodates three, and she sinks down, scarcely knowing
whether she is asleep or awake, beside him. Her heart is
throbbing so fast that for a moment she turns giddy and faint.
She has not spoken a word — she does not try to speak now.
" Well," O'Donnell says, in the same cool tone, "you dofit look
over-glad to see me, I must say. This is what comes of giving
one's friends a pleasant surprise. And I flattered myself you
had sufficient friendly interest in me, or if not, common polite-
ness enough at least, to say you were glad to see me back."

" I am glad." Her voice is not steady — she quivers as she
sits. " But — it was so sudden. I am nervous, I suppose,
and little things startle me." She lays her hand on her heart
to still its tumultuous beatings, and looks up at him for the
first time. "You are the last person I expected to see. I
thought you were at Algiers."

The last person we expect to see is very often the first
person we do see," O'Donnell answered, still eminently self-
possessed. " I haven't been at Algiers, and I'm not going. I
shall turn my sword ir.*-o a scythe, my rifle into a plowshare, and
go in for peace, respectabifity, and pastoral life. I have been
out in New Orleans."

"In New Orleans?"

"Yes. I received a telegi'am from my grandfather after
leaving here, telling me his wife and son were dead, and re-
questing me to bring Rose back. We went. We have been
there ever since."

She was beginning to recover now. She drew a little further
from him, and began tracing figures in the grass with her white
parasol.

" Your sister is well, I hope ? "
" My sister is quite well, thank you."
" She remains in New Orleans with your grandfather?"
"She is in London, and my giandfather is dead."
" Indeed." She is strangely r„t a loss what to say, something
very unusual with Lord RuysUnd's high-bred daughter. "I

HOW IT ENDED.

541

hope then we will see Miss O'Donnell down at Scarswood
shortly."

" Well, yes. I suppose Rose will come. She is very anx-
ious to see yoti. In fact, she wanted to accompany me on this
occasion, but I objected."

"Objected! Why?"

" I preferred to come alone. Other people may be very
anxious to see you as well as Rose — may they not ? And you
know I never like third persons during my interviews with you."

She still looks down at the emerald turf, still traces figures
with her parasol. He looks at her, and there is silence.

You have heard of Sir Arthur Tregenna's marriage ? " she
says at length with a sort of effort. Women are always the
first to break these embarrassing pauses. " No doubt he sent
you word ? "

"He sent me no word — how could he? He thought with
you I was in Algeria. Still I heard of it — from whom do you
think ? Our mutual friend, Charlie Delamere."

" Ah ! Charlie," with a smile ; " he knew your address then ? "

" Yes — after six months of Louisiana, 1 grew sick for news
of England and my friends. I did not care to write to any of
those friends direct for sundry reasons, so I sent a line to
Charlie. I got all the news I wished immediately — Sir Arthur's
marriage among the rest. He's a fine fellow, and in spite of
the Miss Herncastle episode, his wife suits him. She suits him
— all is said in that, they will be happy."

" I hope so," she answered softly.

" Your father is in Germany, Lady Ce!fcil ? "

" He is always in Germany of la^~ — he seems to make it
his home. Poor papa ! " A sigh.

"And you," the blue eyes that caii be so keen, so hard, so
steely, so tender, alternately, are watching her with a light she
feels, but cannot meet. " And you still reside with your cousin
and Sir Peter. I am glad, by the bye, that they are reconciled.
Doesn't the life strike you as rather a dull one ?"

" Not particularly. I hope I have common-sense enough to
know life cannot be all sunshine and roses for any of us. Scars-
wood is always a pleasant place, and I am too busy to find
much time for idle repinings. Work is a boon — I have found
that out. I am the children's governess, now, you know. So,"
with an effort to change the subject, "you have given up all
thoughts of Algiers. Lanty Lafterty will rejoice at that ! How
is Mr. Lafi"erty ?"

"Very well, and strongly matrimonially inclined. He is

542

JIOIV IT ENDED.

down with me, and gone to the Silver Rose to see his old
sweetheart. I beHeve a marriage will follow in the fuhness of
time. And so you are governess to the twins — terrible drudgery,
I should fancy — and practise drawing in the intervals. Let me
have another look at my portrait — clever, perhaps, as a work of
art, but, as I said before, absurdly flattered as a likeness. You
do think of me then sometimes, Queenie ? "

The old pet name ! A faint rose-pink flush deepened all
over the fair, pearly face.

" I think of all my friends — what an opinion you must have
of my memory, and I have a private gallery of their portraits.
Please give me my sketch back — it is easier for you to criticise
than to do better."

"A rule which applies to all criticism, I fancy. I'll give you
the sketch back on one condition — that I may give you myself
with it ! "

" Captain O'Donnell!"

" Lady Cecil ! "

The faint carnation was vivid scarlet now. She started up,
but he caught both her hands and held her. The bright blue
eyes, full of piercing, laughing light, looked up into the startled
brown ones. Not much fierceness — not much sternness there
now.

'• What do you mean, sir! Let me go. Here come the
children — pray, let me go ! "

Let them come ! " cries this reckless young Irishman.
^'Let all the world come, if it likes. I shall not let you go
until you promise. You like me excessively — oh ! it's of no
use denying it — you know you do, but not one thousandth part
as I like you. And I want you to marry me. It will not be
so ve7'y much more stupid than vegetating at Scarswood and
teaching the nine parts of speech to Pansy and Pearl. Come,
Queenie ! We have been in love with each other pretty nearly
seven years. They say the certain cure for love is — matri-
mony. Let us try it."

"Captain O'Donnell, let me go."

" Not until you promise. Queenie, I mean it. I have come
all the way from New Orleans to say this. I love you — be my
wife. Since you can bear up under the drudgery of a gover-
ness' life, you can endure to be the wife of a poor man. The
question is — will you try ? "

I would have tried it six years ago, if Redmond O'Donnell
had given me the chance. I would have tried it eight months ago,
if his pride had not stood between us. I am not afraid of pov-

now IT ENDED.

543

erty — perhaps because I was born to it — poverty and servi-
tude were my birthright. Does Captain O'Donnell forget
princely blood flows in his veins, and in mine — that of a wait-
ing-maid ? "

"That is meant as a reproach. Well, my stiff-neckedness in
the past deserves it. But think again, Queenie — how you have
been brought up — that luxury has been the very breath you
drew — think what marriage with a poor man means. Six
stuffy rooms — one grimy maid-of-all-work — one silk dress a
year- — no carriage — no opera — no society — the beautiful and
poetical of life a dream of the past. Think ! "

" I do think. I think you want to talk me into saying no — •
you fear I may take you at your word. Very well, sir — I say
it. I am deeply honored by your offer, and beg to decline."

He drew her to him — close, closer. If those innocent twins
are anywhere in the visible horizon now, they stand strong
chance of being amazed and scandalized.

" Queenie, my darling — whom I never hoped to hold, to
kiss like this — you really love me well enough to endure poverty
and obscurity for my sake. You will be my wife and never
repent. You will go with me and resign everything ? "

" Everything ! Oh, Redmond ! I shall have you

And then — the twins are drawing nearer — their howls can be
heard through the trees, Lady Cecil has some consideration
for their artless youth, if Le Beau Chasseur has none, and
laughing, and blushing, and looking — oh ! so lovely — withdraws
to the extreme end of the rustic seat.

" No, Captain O'Donnell — not one inch nearer — I insist upon
it ! My hearing is excellent — any remarks you may have to
make I can hear at this distance perfectly well. And the other
performance is not necessary. Pearl and Pansy are coming,
and you know the proverb— 'Little pitchers have great ears.'"

" Confound Pearl and Pansy ! Queenie, you are sure you
will never repent marrying a penniless soldier of fortune ! "

" I tell you I Hke poverty. How stupid some people are — •
forcing one to repeat the same thing over and over. I prefer
it decidedly — yes, I do — don't look like that — I do'\

"Ah!" O'Donnell said, gravely, "I am sorry for that. It
may be painful for you to hear, Lady Cecil, but — I have had a
fortune left me ! "

" Redmond ! " starting up, indignantly. " A fortune ! "

"Yes, my love — don't let your angry passions rise if you
can help it — a fortune. M. De Lansac died three months ago,
and divided his fortune equally between Rose and me. It was

544

HOW IT ENDED.

a fortune of two million dollars. A pittance, perhaps, as com-
pared with the inheritance of Sir Arthur Tregenna ; but to
poverty-loving, humble individuals like Lady Cecil Clive and
Redmond O'Donnell, sufficient for the bread and cheese of
life, a page in buttons, and tmo silk dresses per annum. My
love ! my love ! "

Where is the distance between them now? — and the twins
are standing petrified, open-mouthed and eyed, at what they
behold not six yards off.

" I can give you wealth as well as love. Thank God for the
happiness He has given me at last ! "

The light fades from the scenes and the faces we know — the
hour has come to part. One by one they glide into the shadowy
distance and are lost to you and me forever. Is any one who
has followed their fortunes sorry to let them go, I wonder — to
say forever farewell ?

Take one last look, before the curtain falls, to rise no more.
Of Sir Peter and Lady Dangerfield, dragging out their married,
not mated, lives, in the grandeur and dullness of Scarswood.
Of Lanty Lafferty, a married man, with "Shusan" for his wife,
the prosperous proprietor of a "public." Of Henry Otis and
» his mother, prosperous in London, with Katherine and his
hopeless love already a dream of the past. Of Squire Talbot,
who hopes very soon to bring home a mistress to Morecambe
— a mistress as yet known as Rose O'Donnell. Of Captain
and Lady Cecil O'Donnell, happy beyond all telling of mine —
happy in that perfect wedded love rarely found upon earth.
And lastly, of Sir Arthur and Lady Tregenna, with the past
but a dark, sad dream they never recall, loving each other,
trusting each other, as great hearts and noble souls do love and
trust. They are still abroad, in pleasant wandering through
pleasant lands. One day they will return to Cornwall, and
among all the mistresses that in the last four hundred years
have ruled it in hoary old Tregenna, none will be more be-
loved, none more worthy of all love and honor, than she who
was once Helen Herncastle. Her face floats before me as I
write the words, noble, tender, womanly, peaceful, and happ)'-,
at last. Let the name that began this story end it — Kathe-
rine.

THE END.

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elegantly bound, and put in a box 3 00

Mrs. Hill's Cook Book.

MRS. A. r, hill's new COOKERY BOOK, and family domestic receipts $2 00

Miss Mulocli's Novels.

JOHN HALIFAX, GENTLEMAN 75 | A LIFE FOR A LIFE $1 75

Charlotte Bronte [Currer Bell].

JANE EYRE— a novel $1 75 I SHIRLEY — a novel $1 75

liOuisa M, Aleott.

MORNING GLORIES — A beautiful juvenile, by the author of "Little Women" i 50

Tlie Crusoe Books— Famous "Star Edition."

ROBINSON CRUSOE. — New illustrated edition , 50

SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON. Do. Do I 50

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS. Do. Do 1 5C

Julie P. Smitti's Novels.

WIDOW goldsmith's DAUGHTER... .^I 75 I THE WIDOWER ^1 75

~HRIS AND OTHO I 75 THE MARRIED BELLE I 75

TEN OLD MAIDS [in press].... 1 75 I

Artemus Ward's Comic Works.

ARTET^US WARD — HIS BOOK $1 50 j ARTEMUS WARD— IN LONDON $1 SO

ARTEMUS W/vRD — HIS TRAVELS I 50 I ARTEMUS WARD — HIS PANORAMA... I SO

Fanny Fern's Works.

FOLLY AS IT FLIES $1 50! CAPER-SAUCE (ucw) $1 50

gingersnaps I 50 I

Josli Billings' Comic Works.

JOSH billings' proverbs $1 50 I JOSH BILLINGS FARMER'S ALMINAX, 25 CtS.

JOSH BILLINGS ON ICE I 5° | (lu paper covers.)

Verdant Green.
A racy English college story — with numerous comic illustrations $i 5f

Popular Italian Novels.

DOCTOR ANTONIO.— A love Story of Italy. By Ruffini.. $i 75

BEATRICE CENCi. — By Guerrazzi. With a steel Portrait i 75

M. MIclielet's Remarkable Works.

LOVE (l'amour). — Knglish translation from the original French ....$1 50

ATOMAN (la KEMME). Do. Do. Do I SO

G. W. CARLETON ^ CO:S PUBLICATIONS

Ernest Kenan's Frencli Worlcs.

THE LIFE OF JKSUS .fl 75 I LIFE OF SAINT I'AUL %\ 75

LIVES OF THE APOSTLES I 75 | BIBLE IN INDIA. By JaCoHiot 2 OO

Geo, W. Carleton.

OUR ARTIST IN CUBA. — ^With 50 comic illustrations of life and customs $i 50

OUR ARTIST IN PERU. Do. Do. Do. 1 50

OUR ARTIST IN AFRICA. (In press) Do. Do. I 50

May Agnes Fleming's Novels.

GUY earlescourt's WIFE $1 75 | A WONDERFUL WOMAN. (In press).$T 75

Maria J. Westmoreland's Novels.

HEART HUNGRY $1 75 ] CLIFFORD TROUP . ^HCw) %\ 75

Sallle A. Brock's Novels,

KENNETH, MY KING 75 | A NEW BOOK (in prCSs)

Autlior of "Kutledge."

RUTLEDGH. — A novcl 50 | LOUIE.— A novel $1 50

Victor Hugo.

LEs MisERABLES. — English translation from the French. Octavo $2 50

LES MISERABLES. — In the Spanish language 5 00

Algernon Cliarles Swinl>urne,

LAUS VENERIS, AND OTHKR POEMS. — An elegant new edition $1 50

FRENCH LOVE-SONGS. — Selected from the best French authors i 50

THE DEBATABLE LAND BETWEEN THIS WORLD AND THE NEXT §2 OO

Guide for New York City,

W00t)*s ILLUSTRATED HAND-BOOK. — A beautiful pocket volumc

Tlie Game of Whist.

POLE ON WHIST. — ^The late English standard work oo

Mansfield T. Walwortli's Novels.

STORMCLIFF 75

DELAPLAINE I 75

BEVERLY (new) I 75

WARWICK %X 75

LULU ^. . . I 75

HOTSPUR I 75

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Motlier Goose Set to Music,

MOTHER GOOSE MELODIES. — With music for singing, and illustrations %x 50

Tales from tlie Operas,

THE PLOTS OF POPULAR OPERAS in the form of stories %x 50

M, M. Pomeroy "Mrick."

SENSE— (a serious book) 50

GOLD-DUST do. I 50

OUR SATURDAY NIGHTS I 50

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BRICK-DUST do 1 50

LIFE OF M. >I POMEROY I 50

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FAIRFAX 50 I HAMMER AND RAPIER $1 50

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THE CULPRIT FAY. Do. Superbly bound in turkey morocco, . 5 00

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WAS HE SUCCESSFUL? $1 75

UNDERCURRENTS OF WALL STREET. I 75

SAINT LEGER I 75

ROMANCE OF STUDENT LIFE I 75

LIFE IN SAN DOMINGO f I 50

HENRY POWERS, BANKER I 75

TO-DAY I 75

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CHRONICLES OF GOTHAM. — A rich modern satire (paper covers) 25 cts.

TH^ FALL OF MAN. — A satire on the Darwin theory do. 50 cts.

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AMONG THE PINES 50

MY SOUTHERN FRIENDS I SO

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ROMANCE AND HUMOR OF THE RAILROAD.

TEACH US TO PRAY %i OO

LAST WARNING CRY 2 OO

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-Illustrated $i 5c

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A HISTORY OF THIS CHURCH ; from 1847 to 1873. — Illlustrated $2 00

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Do.

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ANTIDOTE TO GATES AJAR 25 CtS

THE RUSSIAN BALL (paper) 2S CtS

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DEAFNESS.— Dt. E. B. LighthiU. . . . i oo

A BOOK ABOUT LAWYERS 2 OO

A ROOK ABOUT DOCTORS 2 OO

GOLDEN CROSS.— Irving Van Wart., i s°

PRISON-LIFE OF JEFFERSON DAVIS .. 2 OO
RAMBLES IN CUBA I SO

SQUiBOB PAPERS. — John Phocnix.. . . i 50
WIDOW SPRiGGiNS. — Widow Bedott. i 75

CHRISTMAS HOLLY. -Marion Harland$i 50

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POEMS. — By L. G. Thomas i so

VICTOR HUGO. — His life 2 00

BEAUTY IS POWER I 50

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WOMAN, LOVE, AND MARRIAGE 1 50

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WICKEDEST' WOMAN in New Yorlc. . 25 cts

COUNSEL FOR GIRLS I 50

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MARK GiLDitRSLEEVK.— J.S.Sauzade^i 75

FERNANDO DE LEMOS 2 OO

CKOWN JEWELS. — Mrs. Moffatt . . . . i 7S

A LOST LIFE. — Emily Moore i 50

ROBERT GREATHOUSE. — J. F. Swift. 2 OO

ATHALIAH.— J. H. Greene, Jr i 75

FOUR OAKS. — Kamba Thorpe i 75

PROMETHEUS IN ATLANTIS 2 OO

TITAN 2 OO

COUSIN PAUL I 75

VANQUISHED. — Agnes Leonard . . .. i 75

MERQUEM. — George Sand i 75

FAUSTINA. — From the German $1 50

MAURICE. — From the French i 50

GUSTAVE ADOLF. — From the Swedish i 50

ADRIFT WITH A VENGEANCE I 50

UP BROApwAY.— Eleanor Kirk i 50

MONTALBAN. .. I 75

LIFE AND DEATH I 50

JARGAL.— By Victor Hugo i 50

CLAUDE GNEUX. — By Victor Hugo . . i 50

THE HONEYMOON. — A love story I 50

MARY BRANDEGEE. — Cuyler Pine. . . 1 75

RENSHAWE. — Cuylcr Pine i 75

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A BOOK OF EPITAPHS. — Amusing, quaiut, and curious (new) $1 50

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THE ART OF AMUSING. — A book of home amusemcnts, with numerous illustrations, i 50

HOW TO MAKE MONEY ; and how to keep it. — T. A. Davies i 50

ITALIAN LIFE ; and Legend. — Anna Cora Mowatt. Illustrated 1 50

BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN. — Illustrations by Cruikshank (paper) 25 cts

ANGELINA GUSHiNGTON. — ^I'houghts on men and things i 50

BEHIND THE SCENES ; at the "White House." — By Elizabeth Keckley 2 00

THE yachtman's PRIMER. — For aniateur sailors. T. R. Warren (paper) socts

RURAL ARCHITECTURE. — Bj' M. Field. With plans and illustrations 2 00

LIFE OF HORACE GREELEY. — By L. U. Reavis. With Portrait. 2 00

what I KNOW OF FARMING. — By Horace Greeley 1 50

THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN WAR IN 1870. — By M. D. Landon. With maps 2 co

PRACTICAL TREATISE ON LABOR. — By Hendrick B. Wright 2 00

TWELVE VIEWS OF HEAVEN. — By Distinguished Divines.. i 50

HOUSES NOT MADE WITH HANDS. — An illustrated juvenile, illustrated by Hopphi i 00

LIVING WRITERS OF THE SOUTH. — By Professor J. W. Davidson 2 00

CKLiSE OF THE ALABAMA AND SUMTER. — By Captain Semmcs f 50

NOJOQ'JE. — A question for a continent. By H. R. Helper 2 00

IMPENDING CRISIS OF THE SOUTH. Do. 2 OO

NEGROES IN NEGROLAND. Do. (paper). 1 GO

CHARLES DICKENS' WORKS.

A Wew E^dition.

Among the numerous editions of the works of this greatest of Eng-
lish Novelists, there has not been until now 07ie that entirely satisfies the

public demand Without exception, they each have some

strong distinctive objection, . . . either the shape and dimensions
of the volumes are unhandy — or, the type is small and indistinct — oi",
the paper is thin and poor — or, the illustrations [if they have any] are
unsatisfactory— or, the binding is bad — or, the price is to& high.

A new edition is now^ however, published by G. W. Carleton & Co.
of New York, which, it is believed, will, in every respect, completely
satisfy the popular demand. . . It is known as

"CarE«toii'§ Mew Illustrated Edition."

The size and form is most convenient for holding, . . the type is
entirely new, and of a clear and open character that has received the
approval of the reading community in other popular works.

The illustrations are by the original artists chosen by Charles
Dickens himself . . . and the paper, printing, and binding are
of the most attractive and substantial character.

The publication of this beautiful new edition was commenced in
April, 1873, and will be completed in 20 volumes — one novel each
month — at the extremely reasonable price of $1.50 per volume, as
follows : —

1 — THE PICKWICK PAPERS.

2 — OLIVER TWIST.

3 — DAVID COPPERFIELD.

4 — GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

5 — DOMBEY AND SON.

6 — BARNABY RUDGE.

7 — NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.

8 — OLD CURIOSITY SHOP.

9 — BLEAK HOUSE,
10 — LITTLE DORRIT.

1 1 — MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT.

12 — OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.

13 — TALE OF TWO CITIES.

14 — CHRISTMAS BOOKS.

15 — SKETCHES BY "BOZ."

16 — HARD TIMES, ETC.

17 — PICTURES OF ITALY, ETC.

18 — UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELLER.

19— EDWIN DROOD, ETC.

20 — MISCELLANIES.

Being issued, month by month, at so reasonable a price, those who
begin by subscribing for this work, will imperceptibly soon find them-
selves fortunate owners of an entire set of this best editioti of Dickens'
IVorks^ almost without having paid for it.

A Prospectus furnishing specimen of type, sized-page, and illustra-
tions, will be sent to any one free on application — and specimen copies
of the bound books will be forwarded by mail, postage free^ on receipt
of price, $1.50, by

G. W. Carleton & Co., Publishers,

Madison Square, New York.

THREE VALUABLE BOOKS,

All Beautifully Printed and Elegantly Bound.
I. — The Art of €oiiver§atioii,

"With Directions for Self-Cultixre. An admirably conceived and entertaining
work — sensible, instructive, and full of suggostions valuable to every one who
desires to be either a good talker or listener, or who wishes to appear to advan-
tatre in good society. Every young and even old person should read it, 8tudy it
over and over again, and follow those hints in it which lead them to breakup
bad habits and cultivate good ones. Price $1.50. Among the contents will

be found chapters upon —

Attention in Convebsation.— Sat-
IKE.— Puns.— Sarcasm. — Teasing. —
C ENSURE. — Fault- Finding. — Egot-
ism.— Politeness. — Compliments. —
Stories. -Anecbotes.-Questioning.
-Liberties.— Impudence.— Staring.
— Disagreeable Subjects. — Sel-

fishness. —Argument,— Sacrifices.
— Silent People. — Dinner Con-
versation.— Timidity. — Its Cure. —
Modesty. — Correct Language. —
Self-Instruction.— Miscellaneous
Knowledge. — Languages.

IS.— Tiie Iial>U§ of C^ood Society.

A Handbook for Ladies and Gentlemen. With thoughts, hints, and anecdotes
concerning social observances, nice points of taste and good manners, and the
art of making oneself agreeable. The whole interspersed with humorous illus-
trations of social predicaments, remarks on fashion, etc. *;^* Price $1.?5.
Among the contents will be found chapters upon —

Gentlemen's Preface.

Ladies' Preface.— Fashions.

Thoughts on Society.

Good Society. — Bad Society.

The Dressing-Room.

The Ladies' Toilet.— Dress.

Feminine Accomplishments.

Manners and Habits.

Public and Private Etiquette,

Married and Unmarried Ladies.

Do do Gentlemen.

Calling Etiquette.— Cards.
Visiting Etiquette.— Dinners.
Dinner Parties.

Ladies at Dinner.
Dinner Habits. — Carving.
Manners at Supper. — Balls.
Morning Parties. — Picnics.
Evening Parties. — Dances.
Private Theatricals.
Receptions. — Engagements.
Marriage Ceremonies,
Invitations. — Dresses.
Bridesmaids. — Presents.
Travelling Etiquette.
Public Promenade.
Country Visits. — City Visits.

f SI.— Ai'ts of Writing, Meadtiig, and Speaking.

An exceedingly fascinating work for teaching not only the beginner, but for
perfecting every one in these three most desirable accomplishments. For youth
this book is both interesting and valuable ; and for adults, whether professionally
or socially, it is a book that they cannot dispense with. *^,* Price $1.50. Amoug
the contents will be foimd chapters upon—

Say. — "What not to Say. — How to
Begin.- Cautions.-Delivery. -Writ-
ing A Speech. — First Lessons. — Pub-
lic Speaking.— Delivery.- Action.
Oratory of the Pulpit.— Composi-
tion.—The Bar. — Reading of Wit &
Humor. — The Platform. — Construc-
tion OF a Speech.

Reading & Thinking. — Language.—
Words, Sentences, & Construction.
What to Avoid.— Letter Writing.—
Pronunciation.— Expression.— Tone
Religious Readings.— The Bible.—
Prayers. — Dramatic Readings.— The
Actor & Reader.— Foundations for
Oratory and Speaking. — What to

These works are the most perfect of their kind ever published ; fresh, sensible
ffood-hnmored. entertaining, and readable. Every person of taste should pos-
sess them, and cannot be otherwise than delighted with them.

jJS^ A beautiful new minature edition of these very popular books has just
been published, entitled "The Diamond Edition," three httle volumes, ele-
gantly prmted on tinted paper, and handsomely bound in a box. Price $3.00.
These books are all sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, by

G. W. CARLETON h CO., PuWishers, Madison Square, New York.

Mary J. Holmes' Works.

1. — TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE, '

2. — ENGLISH ORPHANS.

3. — HOMESTEAD ON HILLSIDE.

4. — 'LENA RIVERS.

5. — MEADOW BROOK.

6. — DORA DEANE.

7. — COUSIN MAUDE.

• 8.— MARIAN GRAY.
9 —DARKNESS and DAYLIGHT
ic —HUGH WORTHINGTON.

11. — CAMERON PRIDE.

12. — ROSE MATHER.

13. — ETHELYN'S MISTAKE.

14. — MILLBANK.
,i?.-EDNA BROWNING.

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.

"Mrs. Holmes' stories are universally read. Her admirers are numberless.
She is in many respects without a rival in the world of fiction. Her characters
are always life-like, and she makes them talk and act like human beings, subject
to the same emotions, swayed by the same passions, and actuated by the same
motives which are common among men and women of every day existence. Mrs.
Holmes is very happy in portraying domestic life. Old and young peruse her
stories with great delight, for she writes in a style that all can comprehend." —
New York Weekly.

"Mrs. Holmes' stories are all of a domestic character, and their interest,
therefore, is not so intense as if they were more highly seasoned with sensational-
ism, but it is of a healthy and abiding character. Almost any new book which her
publisher might choose to announce from her pen would get an immediate and
general reading. The interest in her tales begins at once, and is maintained to
the close. Her sentiments are so sound, her sympathies so warm and read}',
and her knowledge of manners, character, and the varied incidents of ordinary
life is so thorough, that she would find it difficult to' write any other than an
excellent tale if she were to try it." — BostoJi Banner.

" Mrs. Holmes is very amusing ; has a quick and true sense of humor, a
sympathetic tone, a perception of character, and a familiar, attractive style,
pleasantly adapted to tho comprehension and the taste of that large class of
American readers for whom fashionable novels and ideal fantasies have no
charm." — Henry T. Tuckerman,

The volumes are all handsomely printed and bound in cloth,— sold
everywhere, and sent by xaa^i^, postage free, on receipt of price [$1.50 each], by

G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers,

Madison Square^ New York.

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